


In The Heart of the Storm

by BeccaAnne814



Series: Bucky Barnes x Reader Series [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Allusions to death, Explosions, F/M, PG-13 Sexual Themes, Violence, knifes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeccaAnne814/pseuds/BeccaAnne814
Summary: You are house-sitting for some friends on the Chesapeake Bay in the middle of a hurricane.  Unbeknownst to you, you're not alone.  Takes place immediately following the events of Captain America:  The Winter Soldier.





	1. Chapter 1

You stood on the front porch and waved goodbye to your friends, Aaron and Olivia, as they drove off on their two-week road trip to the Grand Canyon.  Although you loved your friends dearly, you also loved when they went out of town.  They always asked you to stay at their house on the Chesapeake Bay.  It was a gorgeous two-story loft-style home with a wall of windows on the back half of the house that overlooked the Bay.  There was a small dock leading out over the water, and you loved nothing more than to sit out there with a good book and a glass of wine.  This was more of a vacation than a side job for you, but you weren't going to tell anyone that.

 

Once they were out of sight, you walked back into the house and closed the door behind you.  You leaned against the door as you looked down the hallway toward the wall of windows.  The sun was just peeking over the horizon and it was going to be a gorgeous summer day.  You grabbed the suitcase you'd left by the door and started rolling it down the hallway.  The library was just to your left, but you never used that room.  You preferred to sit in the living room so you could see the water.  The dining room was on your right, but again you never went in there, opting to eat at the little table off the kitchen. 

 

Once you were in the living room, you paused for just a moment as the sun finally crested, the sky erupting in shades of reds, yellows, and oranges.  You thought about the old sailor's adage, "Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning."  Deciding that you'd deal with the storm when it came, you came back to the present.  You glanced toward the kitchen to your right and saw that Olivia had baked you a chocolate pound cake and left it in the beautiful glass cake dish you'd bought them as a wedding present.  You debated sneaking a piece now, but you wanted to get unpacked so you could get outside as soon as possible.  

 

You turned toward your left into the living room and gazed longingly at the master bedroom just ahead of you.  Olivia always told you that you were more than welcome to stay in that room, but it just seemed a bit creepy to sleep in their bed.  Instead, you lifted your suitcase and climbed the open staircase opposite the wall of windows.  The view from the balcony was just as spectacular as you'd remembered.  You turned to the left, taking the bedroom you always used when you were here since it had a view of the water.

 

The carpet was white and thick beneath your feet.  You laid your suitcase on the end of the bed and began putting your clothes into the two empty drawers of the dresser that Olivia left open for you. Once you'd finished, you looped your beach tote over your shoulder and grabbed your cosmetic bag, storing your suitcase in the closet.  You dropped the small bag off in the bathroom beside your bedroom and made your way back down the stairs.  You eyed the pound cake from across the room and decided that you were going to go ahead and have a piece. What was the point of being an adult if you didn't indulge in chocolate cake for breakfast every now and then?

 

You opened the back door and walked out onto the deck, enjoying the sun as its warm rays beat down on your skin.  You grabbed a folding lounge chair and walked the short distance to the dock.  Setting up your chair, you dug out the latest Nora Roberts book from your tote beside you and got comfortable.  You were deep into the book and had completely lost track of time until your growling stomach reminded you that you needed to eat something more than a piece of cake.  

You placed a marker in the book and laid it in the chair as you walked back toward the house.  You could just see the edges of storm clouds far away on the horizon, but you weren't worried just yet.  

 

Walking into the coolness of the house reminded you of just how hot it was outside.  You took a moment to relish the cool air before you padded to the fridge and opened it up.  Olivia believed in making sure that you had enough to eat while you were there, so your options were pretty limitless at this point.  

 

You grabbed a bag of sliced deli meat, some cheese, mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato, a bag of grapes, and the cantaloupe Olivia had been kind enough to slice up for you.  The bread was in a little cubby in the corner of the counter, and after you'd retrieved it, you set about making yourself a sandwich with a side of fresh fruit.  You put the rest of the sandwich ingredients back into the fridge and poured a glass of iced tea.  You sat at the little kitchen table and ate your lunch as you watched the sea gulls fly across the increasingly darkening sky.

 

The emergency alert on your phone going off had you spilling your tea down the front of your shirt.  You grabbed a towel to dry yourself off before checking your phone.  You stomach flipped as you read the alert.  The hurricane that forecasters had promised would be heading out to sea after it hit Florida had shifted course and was heading straight for the Bay.  You quickly opened your weather app and checked the radar.  It looked as though you were only going to have about five hours before the storm was bearing down on you.  

 

You ran back outside and grabbed your chair and tote and quickly made your way back to the house.  You brought in all of the deck furniture that might potentially be blown away in the storm and stacked it up in the middle of the living room.  You gave an uneasy glance toward the wall of windows as you silently prayed that they wouldn't be shattered from either the wind or flying debris.

 

You spent the next few hours searching the house for any candles, lighters, matches, flashlights, and batteries that you could find.  You hated rifling through Aaron and Olivia's things, but you knew that the power would definitely go out and you didn't want to be left in the dark.  You laid out the supplies you'd gathered on the island in the kitchen and took stock.  You'd found two flashlights and one pack of batteries.  You'd have to use those sparingly.  There were ten candles, six scented ones in jars, and four tapers from the dining room table centerpiece.  You'd found three books of matches in a drawer in the kitchen and a lighter in the entertainment center in the living room.  If you were careful, you'd have enough emergency lights to get you through the next few days until power was restored.

 

There were two cases of water in the garage, plus the bottles in the refrigerator, so you weren't worried about running out of clean water if the water supply became tainted.  Just to be on the safe side though, you grabbed every pitcher you could find in the kitchen cabinets and filled them up with the tap.

 

Once you felt as though you were as prepared as you could be, you went into the living room and turned on the TV.  You'd put off checking the weather reports because you knew you'd only worry more, but with nothing left to do, you decided to see how bad things were supposed to get.

 

You had a hard time trying to find a weather report as all of the news stations were showing footage of the three large helicarriers that had fallen from the sky in DC a couple of days ago.  You hadn't been keeping up with the story, but you knew that Captain America had been involved and that he'd been severely injured.  He was the least of your worries, though, as the sky outside the windows to your right began to get darker.  

 

Finally finding a station that was covering the weather, you learned that the hurricane was a category 3, intense, but not as bad as it could be.  It was heading straight up the coastline and had already done considerable damage to South Carolina and the Outer Banks.  Forecasters were predicting it to hit the Bay around 8pm tonight.  You looked at your phone and saw that it was just a quarter past six now, but with the sky as dark as it was, it looked like it was around 9pm.

 

You realized that you hadn't eaten anything since lunch, so you took advantage of the electricity and decided to actually cook something for dinner.  It would also help you pass the time while you waited for the storm to hit.  You decided on making some chicken fried rice because it was something you wouldn't mind eating cold for the next few days if you did lose power.

 

Once you'd finished eating and putting the leftovers in the fridge, you made your way upstairs with a few of the candles and a flashlight.  You might as well get comfortable in bed with your book.  The wind was already whistling and you needed to distract yourself.

 

You'd just gotten to the last chapter when the lights went out.  You waited for a few minutes, hoping they would come back on, but you knew better.  The wind was howling, sounding like a freight-train was bearing down on you, and the rain pelting against the windows.  You cautiously walked to the window to look outside, but you couldn't see much in the pitch black of night.  Walking back toward the bed, you crawled in and drew the covers up to your chin, willing yourself to go to sleep.

 

You were just about to doze off when a loud crash jolted you upright in bed.  You strained your ears, trying to determine what had caused the sound, but other than the wind and rain, you could hear nothing.  

You'd just laid back down when you heard another noise from downstairs.  Scared that one of the windows had broken, you grabbed the flashlight and crept down the stairs.  

 

As far as you could see, none of the windows looked broken, but it wasn't until you were at the bottom of the stairs that you realized that the back door was standing wide open.  You thought back to this afternoon, but you couldn't remember if you'd locked it or not.  Deciding that you'd simply forgotten and that the wind had blown it open, you walked over and closed it, turning the lock.

 

You were just about to turn back around when a hand clamped down hard over your mouth.  You felt the sting of a blade nicking the sensitive skin under your jaw as your head was pulled back.  You dropped the flashlight and as it spun around on the hardwood floors, you could just make out a reflection in the window before you.  The sight of a man, dressed all in black, with long wet hair hanging down in his bruised and battered face and a cold, dead look in his eyes had you trembling in terror.


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't scream," he whispered in your ear as your whole body started shaking in terror.

You started to shake your head, but the knife at your throat reminded you to keep still. "I. . .I won't."

The knife disappeared as the man turned toward the master bedroom, his grip on your arm like a vise as he drug you along with him. He paused by the flashlight and picked it up. You were surprised when he turned it off and began walking through the cluttered living room with ease. Every instinct you had told you to scream, but you knew it would be of no use. The closest neighbors were over a hundred yards away and the storm raging outside guaranteed that no one would hear your cries for help.

Your eyes began to adjust to the darkness and you started to make out the features of the house. As he neared the doorway to the bedroom, you whimpered a little, your mind going straight to the worst case scenario. You didn't know how he heard such a small sound, but he stopped and gave you a look, almost sorrowful as he bypassed the bed and moved toward the bathroom.

He forced you to sit on Olivia's chair at the vanity as he tore through the cabinets looking for something. He pulled a first aid kit from the bottom drawer of the sink and shoved it toward you. You held it close to your chest as he began to unbuckle the straightjacket-like coat he was wearing. His movements were jerky and you noticed that he seemed to be favoring his right arm. The more your eyes adjusted, the more you saw that he was covered in blood. Most of it was dry and dark, but there were some spots that looked fresh. Wherever he'd come from, he'd definitely taken a beating. Judging from the injuries you could see, it had been brutal, and you wondered about the other guy. Was he in as bad of shape as the man standing before you? Was he even still alive?

When he removed the coat and the undershirt from beneath it, you couldn't help but gasp in horror. Where his left arm should have been was a metal appendage that looked as though it had been attached with a welding torch. There were large puckered scars all around his shoulder where metal met flesh.

He looked at you and noticed you staring at the arm. He turned his body away so you couldn't see the arm anymore, but the sight before you was no better. You could tell from the angle of his shoulder that his right arm was dislocated. You fought the urge to reach out to him, to offer him help, but you stopped yourself. You had no idea who this stranger was or what his true intentions were. For all you knew, you could be his next victim.

He turned himself so that he could see his right shoulder in the mirror over the sink and you knew he was trying to figure out how he was going to get his shoulder back in its socket. Turning back to you, he grabbed you with his left arm, and the cold metal against your bare skin sent shivers running down your spine. 

He pulled you toward the wall by the door and pushed your back up against it. Taking both of your hands he wrapped them around his right arm as he braced the metal hand against the wall. "Hold on."

There wasn't much time for you to react, so you did as he demanded. Gritting his teeth, he pushed against the wall as he jerked his right shoulder back. A sickening pop was followed by a guttural moan as the shoulder fell back into its socket. 

Once you were sure that his shoulder was back in place, you let go of his arm, and taking advantage of the situation, tried to slip out of the bathroom. He gave you a cold look, slammed the door shut, and turned the lock before pushing you back into the chair. Grabbing the flashlight, he turned it on and propped it up on its end at the edge of the sink. The light bouncing off the mirror and the ceiling gave the room and eerie feel which did nothing to ease your frazzled nerves.

Opening the first aid kit, he pulled out some alcohol swabs and began to clean the wounds on his face and neck. Other than the flaring of his nostrils every time the alcohol came into contact with an open cut, he didn't show any signs of pain. He shoved a handful of unopened wipes at you and turned his back to you. Your knees were about to give out on you as you stood, but you hoped that if you helped him he would eventually just leave. Tearing open a packet, you gingerly began wiping at the blood on his back. As you cleaned one particularly nasty wound, you saw something glimmer in the light. Bending closer, you pinched it between your thumb and index finger and pulled. Slowly, a small sliver of blood stained glass emerged. You dropped it into the marble sink and the sound drew his attention to the piece of glass.

"There's more," he stated.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage. "Can I use the flashlight to get a better look?"

He didn't answer, just grabbed the light and shoved it into your hand. Shining the light over his back, you could see dozens of shards, some buried pretty deep. 

"There should be a pair of tweezers in the top drawer of the sink," you whispered. "Some of these are too deep for me to pull out with my fingers."

Pulling open the drawer, he found the tweezers and held them over his shoulder. The next few minutes were extremely tense as you pulled the glass shards from his back. By the time you were finished the sink was full of bloody slivers and blood was oozing down his back.

You laid the tweezers and the flashlight back on the sink to let him know that you were finished. He looked over his shoulder at you, and you could have sworn that you saw gratitude in his eyes, if only for a second. 

Any thought of him letting you go was erased as he swiftly undid the belt around his waist and shoved you back into chair. Pulling your arms behind you, he looped the belt between the spindles of the chair back and tightened it to the point that you thought your shoulders were going to be dislocated.

Your eyes were squeezed shut in pain, but the sound of a zipper had them popping open again. His back was to you as he began to take off his pants and the pain and the fear had you breaking out into cold sweat. You braced yourself for the worst, so you were surprised when you heard the water in the shower turn on. Slowly opening one eye, you saw him step around the wall of the open shower. The top half of the wall was glass, so you could see him clearly before the steam began to cloud your vision. 

Using both arms to support himself, he leaned against the wall, letting the water cascade down his back. Feeling like a voyeur, you closed your eyes again and waited for him to finish. 

You kept your eyes closed as you heard the water shut off. His wet feet against the tile of the floor helped you to determine his movements for the next few minutes as he grabbed a towel from the shelf beside you and began drying off.

His metal hand was warmer after being exposed to the hot water of the shower, but it was still a shock to feel it when he began to undo the belt around your wrists. He hauled you up out of the chair and led you back into the bedroom. 

Somewhere within you, you knew that he just wouldn't leave. You'd always known that he couldn't just leave you here. You'd seen his face, and there weren't too many men running around with a metal arm. Death was surely in your future, but only after he was finished with you. You tried not to cry as he forced you onto the bed and began tying your hands to the bed-frame behind you.

"Please don't hurt me," you quietly begged as he leaned over you to cinch the belt tighter.

His eyes met yours for the briefest of moments, but there was no emotion to be seen.


	3. Chapter 3

You closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the feel of his hands on you, but it never came. You felt him move away from you and it wasn't until you heard drawers opening and shutting that you dared to open your eyes. His back was to you as he rummaged through Aaron's clothes. He pulled out a ratty t-shirt that had Butte Football written across it in faded screen print. It was one of Aaron's favorite shirts and you hated the thought of this monster wearing it. The man pulled it over his head and began searching again. When he pulled a pair of pajama pants from the drawer, you weren't prepared for him to rip off the towel around his waist before stepping into them. You got a good view of a tight backside and thick thighs before you squeezed your eyes shut again.

You kept as still as possible when you felt the other side of the bed dip under the man's weight. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt him lean over you, but he was only folding the quilt to cover you. You opened your eyes a fraction and found him staring down at you. Even though you were accustomed to the darkness, his eyes were in shadow and you couldn't read his expression. A wave of fear engulfed you for a moment before he turned his back to you and lay on his side. 

Between the wind and the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you couldn't calm yourself down enough to actually sleep. He seemed to have no problem, and it wasn't long before you could make out the even sounds of his breathing as he fell into a deep sleep.

You took advantage of the sleeplessness as you tried to come up with a plan to escape. Your arms ached from being tied together above your head, but you still tried to twist your way out of the bonds. It was almost impossible to remain still while you struggled against the belt, but you were terrified that he would awaken and find you trying to escape. 

Once your hands had gone completely numb, you finally gave up. Instead, you thought of ways to get away from him once he untied you in the morning. Surely he would allow you to have your hands free while you went to the bathroom. All you had to do was find Olivia's scissors in her vanity and then you would have a weapon. The storm should be over by the morning, so once you were away from him, you should be able to make it to the neighbors house.

You spent what felt like hours going over every possible scenario and eventually you began to drift off into an uneasy sleep. You hadn't been asleep for more than an hour when the screams woke you up. You were disoriented for a moment, forgetting where you were, until the pain in your arms reminded you of the events of the previous night. You looked to your right to see the man beside you locked in the horror of what must be a nightmare. His arms and legs were pinned to his sides as though he was strapped down and his back arched up off the bed as spasms of pain seemed to course through him. Sweat had plastered his hair to his head, his skin shimmering in the pre-dawn light, and his face was contorted as he screamed in agony. 

Terror gripped you for a moment as you began to struggle against your bonds, desperately trying to get away from him before he turned on you. Twisting around and rising up onto your knees, you began to tear your wrists free of the leather belt. Blood was dripping down onto the pillow and you tried to ignore the long gashes you were creating. Your hands were still numb, so you couldn't feel the pain of your flesh tearing, but you figured a little pain later was better than death.

You were so focused on freeing yourself that you didn't notice that the screams had stopped. When a shaking hand gripped your arm, you stopped struggling and sighed in defeat. "Stop. You're hurting yourself."

It wasn't the words, but instead the sound of his voice that drew your eyes to his. Last night, he'd been gruff and his voice sounded more like a growling animal. You weren't sure what had changed, whether it was the gentleness you'd shown as you'd pulled the glass from his back or the after effects of the nightmare, but his voice was softer, almost child-like. His pupils were wide in pain and fear, and you wondered what kind of nightmares haunted a man like this. Had he been tortured? If so, by whom, and were they looking for him? Would they find him, find you? 

A million questions swam through your mind as he gently cupped your bleeding wrists with his right hand, his left swiftly undoing the the belt. Once your hands were free, you pulled them close to you as he pushed you toward the edge of the bed. His right arm was around your bicep as he pulled you off the bed and toward the bathroom. 

You instantly became alert as the plans you'd formulated last night came rushing back once you were in the bathroom. All you needed to do was wait for him to pull the door closed and then you would have your opportunity. Your hopes were dashed when he pulled the door shut behind him and locked it.

The two of you stood in the bathroom staring at each other for a moment before he gestured toward the toilet and turned his back. You looked longingly at the vanity, but you knew that he would be on you before you even had a chance to open the drawer. You swallowed hard and tried to put away your modesty as you moved toward the toilet. Embarrassment washed over you, but he didn't even seem to be paying attention to you as he flexed the fingers of his left hand, watching the metal plates shift and slide with each movement.

When he heard the flush, he turned around and waited for you to wash your hands. He then pulled the chair of the vanity out and cocked his head, waiting for you to sit. You turned your head away as he relieved himself, but you could feel his eyes on you the entire time, almost as if he was waiting for you to make a move.

He washed his hands and pulled the first aid kit from he bottom drawer of the sink and turned on the flashlight he'd left in the bathroom the night before. He pulled you out of the chair and forced your hands under the warm water in the sink. He waited until the water was barely pink before he grabbed a hand towel and began to gently pat your wrist dry. You were amazed at his gentleness. It was such a contradiction, someone who obviously had seen pain, had most likely inflicted it himself, being so gentle. You looked at your right bicep, the dark purple bruises forming a perfect handprint as it circled your arm under the sleeve of your t-shirt. Your gaze went back to his hands and he carefully wrapped the gauze around your wrists. 

You noticed that his movements were a bit awkward and it took you a moment to realize why. He was obviously right handed, but it appeared as though he tried not to use his left hand at all. You weren't sure if he just didn't have good range of motion, or if there was another reason, but it was rare for you to feel the cold bite of metal against your aching wrists as he continued to clean and bandage the wounds.

When he'd finished, his hand went back to your bicep to lead you out of the room, but now that feeling had returned to your arms, the bruised flesh under his fingers was tender to the touch. You drew in a sharp breath as his eyebrows crinkled in confusion. His left hand pulled your sleeve up as he stared at the bruises on your arm. His right hand circled your arm again, this time just under the bruises as he brushed his thumb over the marks he'd left on your skin. 

The tenderness of the gesture had your eyes darting to his. He was still studying the marks that he'd left on your skin, but when he felt your gaze on him, he lifted his eyes to meet yours. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He didn't mean to hurt you? Those few words had hope billowing up inside of you. If he didn't want to hurt you, maybe you might just make it out of this ordeal alive.


	4. Chapter 4

He unlocked the door and instead of grabbing your arm, he placed a hand at the small of your back to lead you from the room. The gesture was oddly intimate and had an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach. You couldn't quite describe what you were feeling, but you knew it wasn't fear. After the way he'd cleaned and bandaged the cuts on your wrists, you were starting to think that maybe he wasn't as dangerous as he'd appeared to be last night.

He led you out into the living room and your eyes immediately went to the wall of windows to your left. The sun had just started to rise beyond the horizon and you could see the damage the storm had caused the previous night. The dock had been ripped away from the shore and all that remained was a single post to mark where it had once stood. There was debris all over the yard – broken tree limbs and what appeared to be roofing shingles.

The man beside you didn't seem to be at all interested in what lay beyond the confines of the house, instead his focus was on the kitchen just ahead. You knew that you were hungry and you wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten a meal. Some of the cuts and bruises on his body had appeared to be a few days old, so he must have been on the run since then. If he'd eaten all at, it would have most likely been something he'd dug out of the trash. You just couldn't see him sitting down to a meal in a nice restaurant or getting a value meal to go. He was obviously trying to keep a low profile, and with that metal arm, you doubted that was easy to do.

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and looked around in confusion. "We need food, but there's no power. What is there to eat that doesn't need to be cooked?"

You took a moment to survey the kitchen – there was a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter by the refrigerator, some prepackaged muffins in a basket next to the fruit, and you knew that Aaron always kept the pantry stocked with his favorite cereals. "We have some fruit, muffins, and cereal. The milk in the fridge should still be good, but it won't last too much longer if the power stays out."

He walked over to the bowl of fruit and dug around for a minute before pulling out a plum. He turned it over in his hand a few times before lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite. The look of pure joy on his face as he bit into its juicy flesh had your eyes going wide. How long had it been since he'd had a piece of fresh fruit?

He turned back to you and gestured to the bowl. "What do you want?"

"I'll have an apple. . .please." 

He reached into the bowl and pulled out an apple, placing it on the island between you. "You said there was cereal? Do they still make Raisin Bran?"

You cocked your head slightly to the side, a bit confused at his question. When had they not made Raisin Bran? Who was this man and where did he come from?

You pointed to the pantry on the other side of the fridge, "Aaron usually keeps a few boxes of cereal in there. I'm not sure if he has any Raisin Bran, I didn't look yesterday."

His eyes narrowed and seemed to grow colder as you spoke. "Who's Aaron?" 

His voice was hard and gruff, like it had been last night. Realizing your mistake, you were quick to reassure him. "Aaron and Olivia own this house, I'm just house-sitting. They left yesterday for a two-week trip out west."

"Who knows you're here, other than those two?" 

His voice had softened a bit, but it still had an edge to it that made you a little uneasy. You shot a quick glance to the patio doors behind you, trying to gauge whether or not you could make it out of the house before he caught you. The island was between you and you could always toss some of the porch furniture in his way to slow him down.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned you quietly. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you run, I can't guarantee your safety."

A sudden burst of courage shot through you as you glared at him. "You don't want to hurt me? You can't guarantee my safety?" You had started walking around the island, your voice growing louder with each word you spoke.

He flinched a bit as the volume of your voice continued to raise. "I've already apologized for bruising your arm. . ."

"You're sorry for bruising me?" you shouted in anger, your temper getting the better of you. "What about everything else? Are you sorry for breaking into the house last night, for holding a knife to my throat, for tying me to the bed all night long? Bruises will heal, mister, but the things you did to me last night, those are the kinds of scars that stay with you forever!"

The change in his demeanor was almost instantaneous – one second he seemed to be in control of the situation and the next he looked like a scared little boy. "I'm. . . I didn't realize. . .I. . .I didn't think. You're right. . .you're absolutely right. I'm a monster – I am the monster they made me into."

You were feeling smug, having gotten him to admit that he had done more to you than leave visible marks, but his last words stopped you from continuing your rant. "Who are they, and what did they do to you? Are they the ones that did that to your arm?"

He looked down at his left arm as though he'd never seen it before. When he looked back up at you again, his eyes were clouded in confusion, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "Солдат." 

"Солдат? What does that mean? Is it Russian?"

His eyes met yours again as he seemed to struggle to find the right words. "It means 'Soldier,' and I think it's Russian. It's what they called me."

"Who are they?" you asked again.

He ran his hand down his face, obviously frustrated, his eyes squeezed shut as he desperately tried to remember. "Hydra. They are Hydra."

"Hydra? As in the same Hydra that took over SHIELD, that crashed the Helicarriers into the Potomac?"

At the mention of the Helicarriers, his head shot up. His eyes were wide, and you could practically see the memories flooding back into his mind. "Steve. Oh my God, Steve. Is he dead?"

"Steve? Do you mean Steve Rogers, Captain America?" 

With every word you spoke, his face seemed to crumple. He looked down at his left arm in disgust as he flexed the metal fingers. "What did I do?"

"Oh my God, you're the guy that almost killed Captain America." You didn't wait for him to confirm or deny your statement. Without thinking about the consequences, you turned and ran for door behind you.


	5. Chapter 5

You made it to the back porch, your feet mere inches from the grass when a cold metal arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against a solid wall of muscle. His right hand clamped over your mouth as he effortlessly carried your struggling form back into the house. 

He removed his hand long enough to lock the door, but he didn't let you down until he'd made it back into the kitchen and set you in one of the bar stools at the island.

"I'm sorry you're scared, but I can't let you leave yet."

You looked into his eyes, your own pleading and starting to tear up. "Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone that you're here."

"I can't do that," he explained. "You don't know what they'll do to me if they find me. I can't take that risk. I just need a few days to heal and figure out my next move. I promise I won't hurt you, but I can't take a chance on letting you go."

"I don't have much say in the matter, do I?"

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in exasperated amusement. "No, you really don't. I don't want to tie you up anymore, but I need your word that you won't try to run away again."

"I'll give you my word if you tell me what's going on," you bargained.

"I can live with that," he agreed. "I don't remember everything, but it might help if I try talking about it. You've already helped me remember a few things just by asking questions."

"Did you hit your head? Is that why you can't remember?"

He let out a slow breath. "I wish that was why I can't remember."

"Ok, that's not cryptic at all," you said with sarcasm dripping off every word. "Let's start small. My name is (Y/N), what's yours?"

It was a simple question, but for him it seemed to be the hardest question in the world. His eyebrows furrowed, a gesture you were quickly coming to recognize as intense concentration and frustration. He clenched the metal fingers of his left hand as he ran his right one down his face.

"Steve called me something," he muttered under his breath. "What did he call me?"

"Ok," you said, reaching out to grab his right hand. "We'll figure out your name later. You obviously know who Steve Rogers is, and you call him Steve like he's a friend of yours. How do you know him?"

He looked at your hand for a moment as you held onto his. His thumb brushed the back of your knuckles as he gathered his thoughts. "'Till the end of the line.'"

"Till the end of the line? What does that mean?"

You could see how the words had taken him back to another time. His eyes had shifted up and to the left as he focused on the memory those words induced. "His Ma had just died. We were coming back from the funeral and I told him he could stay with us. I told him I was with him till the end of the line. He said those words to me on the Helicarrier. He was trying to get me to remember him, but it was too late. I recognized him just as he was falling. I tried to reach out for him, but I was falling from the train too fast. Wait. . .no, that's not right. He was falling, not me. We were on the Helicarrier, not on a train. Why am I thinking about a train?"

He was starting to get panicked, his breathing getting faster and his eyes going glassy. You reached up and cupped his face in your hands to bring his attention back to the here and now. "It's okay, slow down. Take a deep breath. You're not on the Helicarrier or on a train. You're right here, completely safe."

His right hand came up to rest on top of yours as he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "I don't know where all that came from. It's all just fragments, just bits and pieces of my memories all jumbled together. I can't make sense of them."

"Why don't you sit down and we'll focus on one at a time," you suggested.

You dropped your hands to your lap as he pulled out the other bar stool and rotated it to face you. "Ok, let's start with Steve."

"That's good," you reassured him. "You said that you remembered being at Steve's mother's funeral. I'm a little confused, Steve Rogers' mother died in the 30s. You only look as though you're about 28, how could you have know Steve's mother?"

"This is going to sound crazy, but what year is it?"

Your eyes grew large as you realized that he was serious. "It's 2014."

He looked at you in disbelief. "I'm 97 years old."

It was your turn to look shocked. "How in the world are you 97 years old?"

"I was born in 1917, I can remember that much. Can't tell you what month or day, but I know it was 1917. Steve was my best friend, but he was smaller, much smaller."

"I think I might know who you are," you whispered hesitantly.

His eyes were full of hope as he waited for you to elaborate. "You do?"

"I think you might be Bucky Barnes," you began. "No, never mind, that's impossible. He died in WWII, there's no way you're him."

"No!" he exclaimed as his right hand shot out to grab yours. "That's it, that's what Steve called me on the Helicarrier. Bucky. I'm Bucky Barnes."

"How is that possible? Bucky Barnes died in 1945 after he fell off a train in Europe. . .oh, you mentioned a train."

"How do you know so much about this?"

"There's an exhibit in the Smithsonian," you explained. "I take my 6th Graders there every year to learn about WWII. I always thought Sergeant Barnes was handso. . .I mean, I thought his story was interesting, so I've read the information on his memorial a few times."

For the first time since you'd met him, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as you tried to backtrack from your original statement. You'd hoped he hadn't caught on to what you were about to say, but it seemed as though he had. "You think I'm handsome?"

"I was talking about Sergeant Barnes," you clarified. "And I'm not 100% sold on the idea that you're actually him. For one thing, you look nothing like him, and for another, there was no way you could have survived that fall from the train."

"I may not remember much, but I know that I remember Steve. The only way I can remember him all skinny and sickly is if I am Bucky Barnes. I can't explain how I survived that fall, or how I still look 28 after all of these years, but Steve believes I'm Bucky, and I believe in Steve."

You were about to say something, but the words died on your lips as the power suddenly came back on. "Bucky" jumped up from his stool and grabbed a knife from the block on the island as the sound of the refrigerator turning back on startled him. Before you knew what was happening, he had yanked you off of the stool and was standing in front of you with the knife outstreched. Last night he'd threatened you, but today it seemed as though he was trying to protect you. Maybe he really was Bucky Barnes. Maybe he wasn't the bad guy after all.


	6. Chapter 6

"It's just the refrigerator turning back on," you explained as calmly as you could. You could feel him draw in a deep breath in front of you as he seemed to try to regain control of himself. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized as he laid the knife on the island.

You turned around to face him again, only to find him sitting on the stool with his head buried in his hands. His chest was heaving as he struggled to draw breath in his panicked state. 

You gingerly reached out to lay your hand on his arm. You didn't know why you did it, but for some reason you felt sympathy for this man that you barely knew, a man that had threatened you, tied you up, and held you at knifepoint twice. From the short conversation you'd had with him this morning, you deduced that he was not a willing member of the Hydra organization. You didn't know what they'd done to this poor man, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.

It was a few minutes before he was calm enough to look you in the eye again. The stress of the past 12 hours, coupled with whatever had happened to him in D.C. had completely drained him and placed dark circles under his blue-grey eyes. You'd always heard about the "thousand yard stare" typical of soldiers suffering from PTSD, and if you'd had to harbor a guess, you would say that you were seeing what it looked like first hand.

"Since the power is back on, why don't I cook us some breakfast?" He gave you a small half smile as you gingerly reached out to squeeze his shoulder. He watched you as you went to the fridge to pull out some eggs and bacon. "How do you like your eggs?"

He started to answer, but the words seemed to die on his lips. "I. . .I don't really know."

"That's okay. I'll just scramble them." You pulled a mixing bowl from one of the cabinets and began to crack the eggs. You could feel his gaze on your back as you began to beat the eggs and milk together. "I don't want to push you too much, but what exactly did Hydra do to you?"

There were a few moments of silence so you looked over your shoulder to gauge his reaction to your question. He was still sitting at the island, but the look in his eyes made it seem like he was a million miles away.

"Pain. There was always pain." He closed his eyes and his brow began to furrow again.

"You don't have to do this. Maybe some things are better left in the past."

"No, I need to get this out, I need to remember who I am."

You had placed a couple of skillets on the stove to warm while you opened the loaf of bread and began placing slices in the toaster oven. "Okay, but don't stress yourself out too much. Sometimes your brain will repress certain memories to protect itself. There also may be some things you might not want to remember."

He acknowledged your words with a nod of his head, but seemed unconvinced. "I need to remember it all, good and bad. I know that I've done horrible things, Steve almost died because of me, but I would rather know the truth than be haunted by all of the 'what-ifs.'"

You turned back to the stove to pour the egg mixture into the heated pan. "I can respect that, but do you think you're ready to deal with close to seventy years of memories?" You began to lay the strips of bacon in the other pan and turn on the toast.

"Seventy years?"

The disbelief in his voice had you looking back over your shoulder again. "It's 2013. You fell from the train in 1945."

He began to look around the room, his eyes starting to take in the details that he hadn't focused on before. Olivia's kitchen was state of the art, the appliances high-tech stainless steel and completely digital. "I've been staring at that stove for twenty minutes, but it's like I wasn't really seeing it." He smacked the side of his head in frustration. "What did they do to me?"

You pulled the pans of food from the burner and turned toward him, leaning over the island to grab his hands. "I may not be a doctor, but even I can tell that they tortured you. Your memory loss may not just be the result of a blow to your head."

His eyes opened and stared into yours for a second. You could see the anguish and torment swimming in the blue-grey depths before he bowed his head again. Your heart both ached for him and lusted for vengeance against those that had caused him pain. You thought back to the memorial at the Smithsonian, of the carefree young man who'd laughed and joked in the video with his best friend. You thought about how pure of heart he must have been to still be able to find joy and laughter amidst all of the pain and strife of war. He had been Steve Rogers' best friend, the one person the Captain had relied on fully. Hydra had robbed both of these men of the future they should have had. You were glad that the Captain had stopped Hydra from further corrupting the world, but what would happen to the man before you now?

"There was a machine. . .leather straps. . .no, they were steel restraints. . .the image is constantly changing. . .the people around me change. . .I hear words. . .Russian words. . .they make no sense. . .then pain. . .always pain. . .then there's nothing. . .I'm still there. . .I can feel my legs moving. . . I can hear the words I'm saying. . .I have no control. . .I'm stuck in a nightmare I can't get out of."

You could see that he was in agony as he struggled to remember who he was, what had happened to him, but would anyone else? Would anyone else look at him and see a broken man, or would they just see the killer Hydra had created? You knew at that moment that you would do anything to protect this man from those that would see him punished for things you were certain were beyond his control.

You gave his hands a light squeeze before you pulled away from him as the timer on the toaster oven dinged. You quickly divided the food onto two plates and walked back around the island. Placing one in front of him, you laid the other one before you and sat down beside him.

"You need to eat. God only knows when you last had a decent meal."

He didn't look up, but he did grab his fork and began to eat. Once he'd had a taste of real food, his hunger got the better of him and he began to devour the bacon and eggs. You had thought he'd be hungry so you'd made him a huge portion and you were glad you did. Within a few minutes, his entire plate was clean and there seemed to be a little more color in his cheeks. He was far from better, but it was an improvement.

"Thank you. I'd say I didn't remember the last time I'd had a home cooked meal, but since I didn't even remember my name a few minutes ago, it wouldn't mean much."

"You're welcome. I actually love to cook, so there's no chance of you starving while you're here." You stood up and gathered the dirty dishes to take them to the sink.

"About that. I shouldn't have come here last night, shouldn't have been so horrible to you. . ."

"It's in the past," you assured him as you rinsed the plates and placed them in the dishwasher. "Now that you're here, we're going to figure out what to do next."

His eyes grew even more serious as the implications of your words set in. "I can't involve you in this. I'm a wanted man, both by Hydra and the authorities. If. . .no, when they find me, neither side is going to let me live. Hydra will kill me to keep me from talking and everyone else will kill me for the things I've done. I may not remember exactly what I did, but if it was for Hydra, it wasn't good."

Your gaze grew stony as you listened to him dismiss your offer of help. "That's too bad. I'm already involved, and like it or not, I'm sticking with you until this is resolved. The first thing we need to do is. . ."

You were interrupted by the unmistakable chiming of the doorbell. The two of you shared a look of panic before he grabbed the knife from the island and began stalking toward the door.


	7. Chapter 7

"Stop!" you hissed in a whisper as you chased him down the hall toward the front door. You grabbed his right arm and he turned to give you an exasperated look. "Listen to me. If that's Hydra, do you really think they're going to ring the doorbell?"

He took a deep breath as the logic of your question settled in. He moved to stand against the wall so that when you opened the door, he'd be hidden but he could still hear everything and make a move if he needed to.

You gave him a small nod of acknowledgement before you checked the peephole. You let out a breath you hadn't been aware of holding as you realized it was just Olivia's neighbor, Cindy, at the door. "It's okay, it's just the neighbor. Probably just checking in on me."

You opened the door with a smile plastered on your face. "Cindy! How are you? Did you guys have any damage over at your place?"

Cindy smiled back at you as she tried to nonchalantly peek over your shoulder into house. "The dock was washed away, but other than that, nothing. How about you, any damage?"

"The dock here washed away as well. The surf must have been pretty rough last night."

"The wind was what drove me crazy last night! I couldn't sleep a wink, just paced the floors all night. Which reminds me, I could have sworn I saw someone lurking around the house last night. Gene told me I was crazy, that we were too far away to see clearly in all that rain and wind, but I know what I saw!"

You could almost feel the tension rolling off Bucky as he hid behind the door. You were going to have to diffuse this situation quickly before he decided to take care of things himself. You didn't know what he might do, but you also didn't want to find out either.

"That was probably just me. I realized that I had forgotten to bring in some of the patio furniture and I didn't want it to get blown away." You swept your hand back toward the living room so Cindy could see the stacks of patio chairs and tables filling the space.

"Hmm, I guess that must have been what I saw. It was dark and raining pretty hard." She looked down in surprise as she noticed the bandages on your wrists. "Oh, honey! What happened to you?"

You looked down at the bandages you'd completely forgotten were there. "I was carrying in one of the tables and a gust of wind almost tore it out of my hands. It scraped up my wrists a bit, but they're fine."

She gave a small shrug of her shoulders, making you think that you'd told a convincing enough lie. "At least I can go back and tell Gene that I wasn't crazy and that I did see someone outside last night! You know how insufferable he can be sometimes. You take care of yourself and keep those wounds clean and covered until they heal. Olivia would just be beside herself if she knew you'd gotten hurt trying to save her patio furniture!"

You gave her a warm smile, wishing she would just leave already. "Yes, please let Gene know that it was just me and that I'm fine. Do you know if cell service is back up? I should probably call Olivia and let her know about the damage."

Cindy looked down at the smartphone in her hands and shook her head. "Mine's still showing no bars. At least the power is back on, so we can be thankful for small blessings."

"Absolutely! Well, I should probably get that furniture back outside and do a more thorough check of the house, just in case I missed anything. Thank you so much for stopping by!"

"It's no problem, dear. I just wanted to make sure some maniac hadn't broken in during the storm and had you held hostage in here!" Cindy began to laugh as she turned to head back to her house. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to stop over!"

You had laughed along with Cindy as she walked away, but it died the second you shut the door and faced the man standing by the wall. He had a chagrined look on his face as he looked down at the white bandages circling your wrists. "I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. Last night I would have definitely agreed with her, but now that I've had a chance to talk to you, to get to know you, it's not the case at all."

"Let's face it, (Y/N), the longer I stay here, the more danger you're going to be in. I've already hurt you. It'll be better for you if I just disappear. It'll be better for everyone if I just disappear."

"Really? And just how to you think you're going to do that? Do you have money? A car? A passport? Where are you going to stay? How are you going to. . ."

"Okay, okay! You've made your point." He threw his hands up in exasperation, forgetting that he still held the butcher knife from the kitchen. "Damn it!" He stalked off toward the kitchen with you following close behind.

You watched as he put the knife back in the block and ran his hands over his face again. He was frustrated and still a bit confused about the whole situation. "I know you want to leave, that you think it's the best thing for me, but you definitely can't go now. It's broad daylight and Cindy is bound to be watching the house. Why don't you go grab a shower while I put the furniture back outside?"

He gave you a long look as he debated something internally. "You won't leave? Try to call the police?"

You laid your hand on his right arm and gave it a light squeeze. "If I were going to turn you in, don't you think I would have said something to Cindy? You have to trust me, Bucky. I want to help you. You don't have to do this alone."

Your words seemed to have convinced him as he nodded his head and headed back toward the master bedroom. You waited until you heard the shower come on before you began to haul the furniture back out onto the patio. You didn't see Cindy, but you knew that she would be watching, just to make sure you did exactly what you told her you would do.

The storm from the night before had left behind a thick blanket of humidity that had you sweating the second you'd stepped outside. By the time you'd finished rearranging all of the furniture, you were a hot mess and you desperately wanted a shower yourself.

You came back into the house to find Bucky standing in the middle of the living room in another pair of Aaron's pajama pants, completely shirtless. He was toweling off his hair so he didn't notice as you watched a rivulet of water run down his sculpted chest, past the rock hard abs to disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. 

You swallowed hard as a wave of lust washed over you. Where had that come from? You'd spent the better part of an hour picking shards of glass out of his back last night, and sure, you'd noticed the hard muscles rippling and bunching under your hands, but you hadn't felt like this. Your mind went back to when he'd put on Aaron's pajamas last night. You'd definitely noticed his bare backside, had been impressed, but still nothing as intense as what you were feeling right now.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts just as Bucky lowered the towel and looked your way. "What's wrong?"

Embarrassment flooded your system as you struggled to hide your newfound interest in his bare chest. "Nothing, I'm just hot. The humidity out there is horrid and I'm all sweaty from moving the furniture."

He threw the towel over his left shoulder and for a moment you could almost imagine what he'd looked like before Hydra had gotten ahold of him, before they'd attached the metal arm. For the first time you actually saw the resemblance to the pictures of him from the Smithsonian. His hair was longer and his face was covered with the beginnings of a beard, but once your attention was diverted from the arm, you could see him for who he really was.

"I should have carried all of that outside."

"You know Cindy is watching the house. She wouldn't have mistaken you for me during the day."

"You're right." He suddenly yawned, his fingers lacing together as he stretched his arms above his head. The pajama pants began to ride down his hips and your eyes were immediately drawn to the thin strip of dark hair that led from his belly button and disappeared beneath his waistband. A wave of heat flooded your system as your mouth went dry. You quickly gathered your wits and began to walk past him toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I normally sleep upstairs when I stay here, so all of my cloths and toiletries are up there. I'm going to go grab a shower to cool off." You kept your expression neutral, hoping he wouldn't see the lust in your eyes. 

"Oh, okay. I think I'm going to grab a quick nap while you do that. I didn't sleep too well last night."

He turned to walk back toward the bedroom and against your better judgment, you followed him into the room. "Wait."


	8. Chapter 8

He stopped and turned back toward you, his brows knitted in confusion.  "What's wrong?"

"The sheets are covered in blood," you told him as you held up your wrists.  "Plus, you were all sweaty from that nightmare you had."

"Oh. . .um. . .I mean. . .it's fine.  There's no need to bother."

"It's not problem," you said as you swept past him and went into the bathroom.  "I think Olivia keeps the spare sheets in the linen closet.  This won't take but just a minute."

You pulled a set of fresh sheets down from the top shelf of the closet and walked back into the bedroom to find him still standing in the same spot, his eyes on the rumpled bed.  Working quickly, you pulled the dirty sheets from the bed and started to put on the fitted sheet.

"This would go a bit quicker if you take one side," you said.

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and moved to the opposite side of the bed.  As you tucked in the top sheet and put the quilt back on, you couldn't help your mind from wondering what it would be like to join him in that bed.  Feeling ashamed of where your thoughts had headed, you glanced up to sneak a peek at him.

"You're heart is racing again," he said as he met your gaze across the expanse of the bed.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I can hear your heartbeat," he explained, his voice almost a whisper.  "It started beating faster just now.  It happened before when we were in the living room.  I assumed you were just overheated fro being outside.  Are you okay?"

"You can hear my heartbeat?" you asked in disbelief.  "From across the room?"

"Are you okay?" he asked again.  "You're not still scared of me, are you?"

"No!" you quickly assured him.  "It's not that, it's just. . .I can't really explain it."  You closed your eyes as you tried to find some excuse to give him, something other than the truth.  "Look, it's not important.  I'm fine.  I'm going to go throw these sheets in the washer and grab a shower.  Take a nap and then we'll check the news, see if there's any update on Captain America."

He gave you a long look as if he knew you were hiding something from him.  Taking a deep breath, he nodded.  "Okay.  Wake me up as soon as you're finished."

You gave him a small smile as you picked up the dirty sheets and left the room, pulling the door closed behind you.  You paused for a moment, leaning back against the door.  You needed to get a grip.  This man had been held captive and tortured for 70 years.  His mind was a jumbled mess, he barely even knew who he was.  He needed a friend right now, and you needed to get your hormones under control and figure out how to help him.

Once the sheets were in the washer, you headed upstairs to take a shower.  You debated on whether you should remove the bandages, and decided that it wouldn't hurt to clean the wounds on your wrists again.  The gashes didn't look as bad as they had when they were still bleeding, but they still stung when the hot water hit them.  You found another first aid kit and did your best to redress them before heading back downstairs.

The sheets had finished washing, so you put them in the dryer and went back to the master bedroom.  Cracking the door, you peeked in and found him sound asleep. He was laying on his stomach, the sheets around him a jumbled mess, and his arms tightly hugging his pillow.  He looked so peaceful, you didn't have the heart to wake him up.  

If you were thinking about leaving, now would be the time.  He was dead to the world and it would be so easy to grab your bag and jump in your car.  Leaving would be the smart thing to do, but your mind kept going back to the memorial in the Smithsonian.  The story of Bucky Barnes had captivated you since you were a little girl.  Sure, he was handsome and charming, but he was also one of the bravest men to have fought alongside Captain America.  That man would have never joined Hydra of his own volition.  You didn't know the whole story, but from what you knew about Hydra, what you'd learned in the past few days, they weren't above capturing an enemy combatant and torturing him until he lost all sense of who he was.  They were evil enough to take one of America's greatest heroes and turn him against his own country, to force him to do vile, unspeakable acts.  You didn't know what he'd done under their control for the past 70 years, but if they had sent him to kill Captain America, then they'd used him to kill others before.  He may never remember all of his past, and for his own sake, you almost hoped he never did.

You tiptoed to the side of the bed and carefully sat on the edge, scared that you would startle him.  He never moved a muscle as the mattress dipped a little under your weight.  He must trust you beyond a shadow of a doubt to allow himself to slip this deep into unconsciousness.  Your hand itched to brush the stray lock of chestnut hair that was laying across his forehead, but you curbed the impulse.

A sudden wave of exhaustion flooded your system as you realized that the danger had passed.  You'd been so keyed up the night before, between the storm and the way he'd broken into the house.  You'd barely gotten any sleep last night and then this morning was one adrenaline rush after another.  Finally feeling at peace, your body had decided that it needed to rest.  Deciding that he deserved to sleep a little longer, you stretched out beside him and laid your head on the other pillow.  You would only lay here for a moment to rest your eyes for a little bit.

 

You awoke to find the room bathed in shadows, the sun having just set based on the twilight color of the sky through the windows.  At some point during your nap, Bucky had traded his pillow for you and was currently laying across your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and his hands curling around your shoulders.  He still had that peaceful look on his face, and for a moment, you could see the young boy from Brooklyn that had headed off to war back in the 40s.  

Your arms were wrapped around him as well, and you lightly shifted your fingers to feel the contours of the muscles beneath your hands.  His back was as solid as a rock under the thin material of the shirt.  That lone lock of hair was still laying across his forehead and this time you couldn't stop yourself from reaching up and brushing it back behind his ear.  

As your fingers glided through his thick mane of hair, he let out a little sigh that melted your heart.  How long had it been since he'd felt a gentle touch?  How long since someone had reached out to him in comfort, not in pain?  Unable to stop yourself, you continued to run your hand through his hair, carefully working out the knots where he'd tossed and turned before you'd found him hugging his pillow.

The longer you lay there, the more surreal this all became.  As a teenager, you'd dreamed of meeting Bucky Barnes, of being his best girl.  You'd always wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms, to be able to run you hands through his hair, to have him kiss you.  Right now, you were actually living out two of those scenarios and you were close enough to lean down and finish your girlish fantasy.  Just the thought of his lips on yours, his hands gently cupping the back of your head as he pulled you closer to him, had desire flooding through you.

"Your heart is racing again," he mumbled against your chest.

Your hand immediately stilled as his head shifted and a pair of mischievous blue-grey eyes peeked up at you.


	9. Chapter 9

His hands left your shoulders as he placed them flat against the mattress to brace himself as he rose up to better look you in the eye. Your hands dropped to your side and you could feel your heart beating harder and faster than it had before. You immediately missed the feeling of having him wrapped around you. He had a devious little smirk on his face that let you know he'd figured out your secret.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, although you had no idea what exactly you were apologizing for.

He was still staring intently into your eyes and it was starting to make you nervous. Shifting all of his weight onto his left arm, he placed his right hand over your heart. You could feel the traitorous organ leap within your chest, causing him to drag his bottom lip between his teeth. An intense rush of desire flooded your system and you could feel your skin begin to tingle and burn, craving his touch. His gaze searched yours as his eyes flitted down to your lips. 

He started to lean toward you and your breath caught in your throat as you realized that he was going to kiss you. His lips were mere millimeters from yours, but he seemed hesitant to close the distance. His hair was like a curtain around his face, tickling the sides of your cheeks and blocking your view of his face. You reached up and buried your fingers in the thick, dark strands, pushing it away from his face so you could see him. As your fingers raked across his scalp, he closed his eyes and he let out a small moan before finally closing the distance between you two.

Just as his lips tentatively brushed across yours, the phone in pocket began to vibrate. Startled, he pulled away from you quickly and stared at the front pocket of your shorts. Your hands dropped from his face as you frantically tried to retrieve the phone before the caller hung up.

"I'm so sorry. It's my phone, probably Olivia calling to check on me."

Bucky rolled away from you, laying on his back and raking his hands through his hair as he tried to calm his breathing.

You sat up, hoping to clear your head a bit before talking to Olivia. Sliding your thumb across the touchscreen, you answered the call, hitting the button for speakerphone so Bucky could hear everything you said. You didn't want him to think that you were secretly trying to turn him in.

"Hey, Olivia."

"Oh my God, (Y/N)! Are you okay?" Olivia's voice was absolutely frantic. "I've been trying to call for hours but I couldn't get through. I was so scared that something had happened to you."

"I'm sorry you were worried, but I promise you that I'm perfectly fine. There's no damage to the house, but I'm afraid the dock is gone."

"I don't care about the house," Olivia assured you. "I'm just worried about you! Cindy called a few minutes ago and told me that she saw someone lurking around the house during the storm last night and that you had bandages on your wrists."

Silently cursing the nosy neighbor, you shot a quick glance at Bucky who'd tensed up at the mention of him. "You know how dramatic Cindy can be, Liv. She came by this morning and I told her that she saw me last night trying to get the porch furniture in before it got blown away. One of the tables slipped and scraped up my wrists."

"She said that she hasn't seen you outside at all today and she was worried."

You reached over and laid a hand on Bucky's shoulder to reassure him as he sat up. "I didn't get any sleep last night due to the storm, so I've been asleep most of the afternoon," you explained. "Anyway, it's so hot and muggy outside right now, I didn't want to be out there."

"Well, I'm glad that you're okay. Aaron and I are planning on coming home tomorrow. . ."

Panic welled up inside you and you saw Bucky's eyes grow large. "No, Liv, don't do that!" you interrupted. "I promise that everything here is fine. You guys have been looking forward to this vacation all year long, please don't cut it short now. The storm is over and the power is back on. There's no reason for you guys to come back."

"Are you sure?" she asked. 

"I'm positive, Liv," you assured her, your eyes never leaving Bucky's. "I'm perfectly happy to stay here for the next two weeks. You guys focus on enjoying your vacation."

Olivia seemed placated and soon you were saying your goodbyes and hanging up. You continued to stare at your phone for a few moments after you'd hung up, nervous to look at Bucky now that it was just the two of you again. Your mind kept going over that almost kiss from a few minutes ago. Would he regret it? Would he want to pick up where you'd left off? Did he just want to forget it ever happened? The sound of his voice brought your attention back to the present.

"That was your chance, you know."

Turning to look at him in confusion, you asked, "What do you mean? My chance for what?"

"To get away from me," he clarified as he slid to the edge of the bed, his back toward you. "You could have left this entire nightmare behind you."

Scooting over to kneel beside him, you placed your hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to turn and look at you. "I told you that I wanted to help you, Bucky."

"Why?" he asked sharply. "Why do you want to help me? You know what I'm capable of, what I did to Steve. How can you possibly stand to be around me? To have me touch you?"

Taking his face in your hands, you looked him straight in the eye as you answered him. "I believe in you, Bucky. You're not the monster that Hydra created. There's a good man still inside of you and he's desperately trying to claw his way out. You had every opportunity to really hurt me last night, but you didn't. Granted, you weren't the nicest houseguest I've ever had, but when you saw that I was hurt, you cleaned my wounds and bandaged me up. Hydra may have tried to kill the man you used to be, but they failed."

He closed his eyes and placed his hands over yours. When he opened them again, there were tears in his eyes. "I can barely remember that man. I desperately want to remember, to know who I really am. You're so sure about me, but all I can really remember is the monster. It's like I'm watching a picture show, I can see my hands, but it doesn't feel like me holding the gun. It's like I'm trapped inside my body, but someone else was in control."

Your heart ached for him, and you desperately wanted to comfort him, but you just didn't know how. "I don't believe for one second that you had any choice in the things they made you do. I may not know you, but I've read every single thing ever written about you. You were by no means a saint, your reputation for being a notorious ladies man before the war confirms that, but only a good man would sacrifice his life for his country and his friends. Someone who is inherently evil only thinks of themselves, and from what I've seen in the past 24 hours, that's not one of your character traits."

He closed his eyes again as a tear fell from the corner of his eye. You brushed your thumb over his cheek to catch it before it ran down his face. Leaning forward, you closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his. 

His hands dropped from your face and circled around your back. Your position beside him was a bit awkward for his embrace, so you shifted over to straddle his hips. You were worried that he would think you were being too forward, but he tightened his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he buried his head in the crook of your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and began to run your hands up and down his back.

You don't know how long the two of you stayed like that, but you know you would have been content to hold him all night long. He eventually raised his head and looked at you again. The sun had fully set and the room was pitch black dark, but you could just barely make out his features. The look in his eyes was unreadable, and you waited for him to say or do something to let you know what he was thinking.

His raised his right hand and lightly brushed his knuckles down the side of your face and you could feel your heart skip a beat as the desire from before came rushing back. 

"Your heart is racing again," he whispered as he leaned in and captured your lips with his.


	10. Chapter 10

His lips were soft against yours, and a bit hesitant. You could tell that he wasn't very sure of himself at the moment, and you tried to show him through your actions that he wasn't overstepping. He still had the metal arm wrapped around your back and his right hand had moved to cup the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the contour of your jaw. You buried your hands in his hair and shifted your head a bit to deepen the kiss.

When your tongue brushed across his swollen lips, he let out a moan. Taking advantage of his parted lips, you hesitantly swept your tongue across his. The hand around your back tightened, pulling you even closer to him as either instinct or memory took over and he took control of the kiss. His right hand slid down your throat as his thumb brushed across your collarbone.

You could feel your heart pounding within your chest, and the blood rushing through your veins was the only sound that you could hear. His hand continued it's journey down your body as his fingertips traced the outline of your breastbone. He paused over your heart, laying his palm flat against your chest. With every sweep of his tongue against yours, you could feel your heartbeat getting faster and faster. You could feel the corners of his lips turn up in a smile as he continued his blissful torment.

When his lips abruptly left yours, you let out a groan of displeasure that was soon a moan as his mouth followed the course his hand had just taken. You tipped your head back as his teeth scraped along the sensitive skin of your neck, your hands still buried in his thick hair as you struggled to hold on to any sense of reason.

His tongue darted out to trace the shallow dip between your neck, the sensation sending a wave a desire straight through your body. On a breathless sigh, you spoke his name. "Bucky."

Without warning, he pulled away, his hand coming up to gently grab your wrists. Your eyes shot open as you tried to read his expression in the darkness. You could see that his eyes were wide, but you couldn't tell if it was from desire or panic.

"What's wrong?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper so as not to startle him any further.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he said as his thumbs brushed over the bandages on your wrists. "Last night you were terrified that I would touch you. . ."

You twisted your hand in his to grab his wrist as you placed his palm against your heart. "Do you feel this?" He nodded his head. "My heart isn't racing from fear, Bucky." You took a deep breath before you continued. "Yes, I was scared of you last night, and the last thing I wanted was your hands on me, but that was then. Everything has changed now, and maybe we're rushing things, maybe I'm pushing you into something that you're not ready for, but I you need to know that everything that's happened in last few minutes has been of my own free will."

His eyes had stayed locked on yours as you'd tried to convince him that he wasn't doing anything wrong, but you could still sense him become more and more distant.

His hand rose to your face as he brushed his knuckles down you cheek. "My head is spinning right now, and I don't know what's real anymore." He laid his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he appeared to be struggling to find the words he wanted to say. "I think you're confusing me with someone that I'm not. . ."

"Bucky," you began to interrupt.

"That's just it," he said. "That's my name, but I'm not really him anymore." He looked back up at you again and you could see the sadness written all over his face. "I have these memories, but they mean nothing to me. I want to feel something, to remember what it was like to be me, but it's like there's this disconnect between my memories and my emotions. I know I should feel something, but I don't feel anything. It's like I'm watching someone else's life."

The gravity of the situation came crashing down on you as you realized that you had been pushing him too hard. You'd been so enamored with the idea of having Bucky Barnes in the flesh before you that you'd failed to realize just how traumatized he really was. Your heart began to ache as you thought of how scared he must really be.

You wrapped your arms around him, your right hand cupping the back of his head as you brought it to rest on your shoulder. His arms wrapped around your back and you could feel him holding onto you like a lifeline.

"I'm so sorry," you said. "I'm such an idiot, letting my hormones get the better of me like that. You need a friend, a shoulder to lean to on, and from now on, that's exactly what you're going to get."

He laid with his head on your shoulder for a what felt like hours as you slowly ran your hand up and down his back, trying to soothe his frazzled nerves. You had thought he'd fallen back to sleep until you felt his fingers start to trace the outline of your spine through your thin t-shirt.

"I'm scared," he muttered against your shoulder.

Your brows crinkled as you tried to make out what he was saying. "What?"

He lifted his head just a fraction as he repeated himself. "I said that I'm scared." He lay his head back down as his grip on you tightened a bit. "I'm scared of what's going to happen to me when you're gone."

You closed your eyes, your head tipping back as tears threatened to fall from your eyes. Your heart was absolutely breaking for this man right now and you realized that you were just as terrified of what would happen to you once he was gone. Your hands slid up his back to grasp his shoulders as you laid your cheek on the top of his head. "You don't have to worry about that right now. I'm not going anywhere."

"But you will," he whispered, his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck as he spoke. 

You wanted to argue with him, but you knew you couldn't. Right now, the two of you were existing inside a sphere of isolation brought on by both your location and the storm from the previous night, but it wouldn't last forever. Eventually the real world would come calling, Aaron and Olivia would come home, and you'd be forced to go back to the suburbs of Richmond where you lived. You couldn't very well bring him back with you, could you? What kind of life would he have? What kind of life would either you have?

You shook your head to clear your mind, telling yourself that you'd figure something out. The two of you had two weeks to decide what to do next. Your brows shot up in surprise as you realized that in less than 24 hours you'd already become attached to this broken shell of a man and you knew that you would fight heaven and hell to protect him from those that wanted to bring him more pain. You weren't sure why you felt so protective of him, but you knew that you would be willing to do anything to keep him safe.


	11. Chapter 11

"Thank you," he said after a while, his head raising up from your shoulder. "Thank you for understanding, for being so kind to me."

You framed his face in your hands as you looked into his eyes. "You don't have to thank me. You're going through something I can never understand, and I just want to help you."

"You're a kind person, (Y/N)," he said as he placed a kiss on your forehead, "and I don't know what would have happened to me if I hadn't found you."

"Well, you did," you said with a smile as you began to untangle yourself from him. Standing up you reached out your hands to him. "You must be hungry, let's go get something to eat and see if we can catch the news."

Taking your hands, he stood. You dropped his right hand and interlaced your fingers with his left. You were slowly getting used to the feel of the cool, smooth metal. Leaving him at the bar stools by the island, you went to the refrigerator to get the leftover's from yesterday.

"I made chicken fried rice yesterday for dinner," you told him as you pulled a pan from the cabinet by the stove and placed it on one of the burners. "It's pretty good reheated if you don't mind eating leftovers."

He gave you a little half smile that had your heart doing somersaults. You took a deep breath to calm yourself before he noticed and called you out on it again.

"I'll eat anything you put in front of me, (Y/N)."

You smiled as you emptied the plastic container into the heated skillet. You could feel his eyes on your back as you stirred the rice a few times before placing the glass lid over the pan to steam. Turning back you found him still staring at you, but you could tell from his expression that his mind was anywhere but here. You weren't sure if he was remembering something good or something bad, so you cautiously walked toward him.

His eyes finally focused on you as you leaned on the island across from him. "Where were just now?"

He took a deep breath as he ran his right hand through his hair. You could tell he was trying to put his thoughts into words, so you waited patiently for him to answer.

"There was a restaurant that I remembered," he told you as he looked away from you, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration. "I can see Steve beside me – he's so small – and there's a little Chinese woman with her hair in a long braid down her back. Steve is smiling at something I said and the woman – I think her name was Mrs. Li – is shaking her head as she hands me a brown paper bag."

His hands were clenched in fists and you reached out to lay yours over them. "This is good, Bucky. You're starting to remember."

His hands relaxed as he turned them over to rest under yours, his thumbs rubbing circles over your knuckles. "It's just small fragments without any context. I don't know when this happened or what I said to make them react that way."

His voice had started to rise as his breathing got a little choppy. You held his hands a little tighter as you tried to soothe him out of having a panic attack. "It's okay, Bucky. You're not going to remember it all at once. It's going to take time, but eventually you're going to be able to make sense of it all."

He closed his eyes and hung his head as he continued to take deep breaths. "It's so frustrating, (Y/N). It's like trying to read a book, but all of the pages have been ripped out and you're just picking them up at random, and nothing makes sense."

Your eyebrows shot up as a thought suddenly came to you. "I have an idea. Can you watch the rice while I go grab something from upstairs?"

"What do you mean 'watch the rice?'" he asked.

You shook your head, chuckling at the look of pure panic on his face. "Just go over and stir it so it doesn't burn. I'll just be a minute."

Not giving him time to answer, you hurried through the living room and up the stairs. Opening up the drawer of nightstand, you found what you were looking for and raced back downstairs. You paused at the bottom of the staircase as you saw Bucky standing in front of the stove, poking at the rice with a spoon. You couldn't help the bubble of laughter that rose within you at the sight.

Walking up behind him, you took the spoon from his hands. "Here, let me do this. You go sit back down."

Stirring the rice and placing the lid back on the skillet, you turned back toward him and showed him what you'd retrieved from your room.

"I don't understand," he said as he looked at the small black and white notebook you'd laid before him. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"It's a blank composition notebook," you explained as you opened it for him to see. "I use these to write down random thoughts or dreams that I've had. I always keep a blank one with me, just in case. I want you to have it so you can write down the things you remember."

"How is that going to help?"

"Well, right now it's not going to mean much, but as more memories start to return, you can use this notebook to try to help you put it all together. Think of it like a jigsaw puzzle; you're pulling out random pieces that don't make much sense now, but once you have 20 or 30, you can start to form part of the picture."

He nodded his head as he started to understand what you were saying. "How will I know which pieces go where?"

"You'll need to find some way to organize it all. I prefer different colored highlighters, blue for dreams, yellow for random thoughts, pink for story ideas, and so forth. You could use different symbols to help you keep things straight. For instance, you could put a smiley face next to the memories where Steve is still small and a star next to the ones after he became Captain America."

He cocked his head to the side as he raised his eyebrows at you. "And there's the schoolteacher."

"Hey!" you protested with a grin. "I'm just trying to help you out!"

He let out a soft chuckle as he took the notebook from you. "I know, and I appreciate it. I actually think this is a really good idea, I just don't know if I should write down everything I remember."

"This is just my opinion, but I think you should."

He looked up at you, his eyes drawn together in question. "Why do you think that?"

You leaned across the island again and took his hands. "You told me earlier that you wanted to remember it all, good and bad. The only way you're going to make sense of your past is if you have it all written out before you. It's not going to be pretty, but it's not like anyone is going to be reading this but you."

"You don't want to read it?" he asked.

"Only if you want me to," you told him.

He looked back down at the notebook, his fingers flipping through the blank pages. "I think I want you to read it." He looked back up at you, a sad expression on his face. "You've seen me at my worst, and I think you deserve to know who I really am."

"I already know who you are, Bucky," you told him. "Nothing you write in that notebook is going to change my mind about you."


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky continued to flip through the pages of the notebook as you turned back to the stove. As you divided the rice onto two plates, you kept sneaking glances over your shoulder. You couldn't help the small smile that spread across your face as you watched him pick up the pen and begin to write. You piddled around the kitchen, fixing two glasses of iced tea and getting two forks from the silverware drawer. Once he'd put the pen down and closed the notebook, you set his plate before him.

He had already started eating before you had rounded the island to sit beside him. You couldn't keep the giggle from escaping as you listened to him sigh and moan with eat bite he took.

"What's so funny," he asked around a mouth full of rice.

"Nothing," you said. "It just sounds like you're really enjoying your dinner."

"I'm sorry," he said, hanging his head and trying to eat more quietly.

"Don't be! I'll take it as a compliment to my cooking."

He peeked out from behind the curtain of hair hiding his face from you and a small smile played across his features. He waited until you had finished your meal before taking both of your plates to the sink.

"I can do that, Bucky," you said as you started to follow him to the sink.

"It's alright," he said as he began to rinse the plates. He stared at the dishwasher for a moment before reaching toward the door and fumbling around for the latch.

You clasped your hands together behind your back to stop yourself from trying to do it for him. He furrowed his brows as he lowered the door and looked into the appliance. He saw the plates and forks from breakfast and put the dinner dishes in beside them. Closing the door, he gave you a look, questioning whether he'd done it correctly. You smiled at him and took his hand again.

"Let's go check the news. I'm sure there'll be an update on what's going on in DC."

He took a deep breath, as if to steel himself for what he was about to see and hear. You couldn't even imagine the range of emotions that must be going through him at the moment. You knew if you were in his position that you would be both terrified and anxious to learn the fate of your best friend. Knowing that you were the one to put his life in jeopardy was a feeling that you couldn't begin to fathom. 

He sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hand. You aimed the remote at the TV and started flipping through the channels to find a news station. You didn't have to go far since the events in DC a few days ago was such a huge story. They were showing video footage from earlier in the day of the downed Helicarriers in the Potomac. As you watched the camera sweep over the scene, a female reporter gave an update.

"Homeland Security is still trying to comb through the data files that were released a few days ago during the attack in Washington, DC. The death of Alexander Pierce has been confirmed. Pierce was the Secretary of the World Security Council, and if there is any truth at all to the files leaked on the internet, he was also the man behind the terrorist organization called Hydra.

At that moment a photograph of Pierce came on the screen and you heard Bucky inhale sharply. You reached out to lay your hand on his leg, giving it a soft squeeze. "Did you know him? Was he really Hydra?"

Bucky's eyes had gone glassy and you could tell that he was lost somewhere in one of his fragmented memories. You gave him a few moments to collect his thoughts, your hand never leaving his thigh to remind him that he wasn't alone.

He closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. "He was Hydra," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "He's the one to ordered me to kill Steve."

You didn't say a word, but instead scooted closer to him to wrap your arm around his shoulder. He leaned into you as the guilt of hurting his friend started to set back in. You glanced back up at the TV, hoping to see some update on the Captain's condition. The reporter was still talking about Pierce, Hydra, and an organization that you'd only heard about in passing called SHIELD. She was speculating on just how much influence Hydra had had on SHIELD and whether any of those agents could be trusted.

You were about to give up, when a blurb began running across the ticker on the bottom of the screen. "Bucky, look, there's an update on Captain Rogers."

Bucky looked up and began to read the scrolling message aloud. "Captain Steve Rogers has been downgraded from critical to serious but stable condition. He remains in the ICU at this time."

"That's good," you told him. "Serious is much better than critical and they're making it seem as though he's getting better."

"You didn't see him," Bucky said. "His face was a bloody pulp, probably half of his ribs were broken, not to mention the gunshot wounds and the near drowning. It's a miracle he's even alive."

"I know you blame yourself, Bucky. . ."

"Who else is to blame?" he questioned as he interrupted you.

"You just said that Pierce had ordered you to kill him," you reasoned. "It sounds as though he's the one to blame."

"It was my hand on the gun, my finger that pulled the trigger, my fists that kept pounding his face." He was practically sobbing, staring at his open hands as though he'd never seen them before.

"What did you tell me earlier today about a machine? You said that there were restraints, that there was always pain, and then you felt like someone else was controlling your body. It sounds like they were brainwashing you through torture. You can't be held responsible for the things you did while you were under their control, Bucky."

He looked up at you, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I want to believe that, (Y/N), I really do, but I can remember what it felt like to shoot Steve. I remember being pleased that he was in pain, that he could barely move. I enjoyed what I did to him."

"I don't know much about brainwashing, but I can tell you this," you began as he looked back down at his hands again. "You're not enjoying yourself right now. You're racked with guilt and you're angry at yourself for the things that you did while under their control. That doesn't sound like a cold-hearted killer to me. They treated you like an animal, conditioning you to obey their commands, but you broke free." You paused a moment to grasp his chin, forcing him to look at you again. "You broke free of them, Bucky. It may have taken almost killing Steve to do it, but you, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, beat them. They've spent almost 70 years torturing you, but when it came right down to it, the good man inside of you won."

His eyes had grown watery and you could tell that he was ready to break down, so you pulled him toward you, his head resting on your shoulder as you cradled it with one hand and let the other stroke his back. You'd never hated another human being the way that you hated Alexander Pierce at this moment. A feeling of rage washed over you as you wished that he were still alive so you could put a bullet through his skull. He deserved a crueler, more painful death, and you hoped that whoever had actually killed him had made him suffer a bit before he died.

Bucky had wrapped his arms around you as you held him. Watching the news had taken so much out of him, but you knew that if he were ever going to heal from this trauma that he needed to face it head on. The more he knew about what was going on, the sooner he could learn to accept his role in the whole debacle. You were convinced that he was blameless, that he'd had no control over his actions. You just couldn't bring yourself to believe that he would willingly hurt Steve Rogers. He'd given his life to protect him all those years ago and no amount of torture could erase a bond that strong.

He pulled away from you, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. "I think I need to be alone for a while."

You pulled away from him as he began to stand. "I understand. I'm going to keep an eye out for updates on the Captain. Let me know if you need anything."

He walked toward the master bedroom, pausing at the door to look back at you. "Thank you, (Y/N). I know I don't deserve your kindness, but I appreciate it all the same."

He turned and walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. Your heart was breaking as you sat on the couch and tried not to cry. Deep down he was still that scared young man that went off to war 70 years ago. Now he was stuck in a world he didn't recognize, and the only person he knew was struggling to hang on to his life. Fate may not have brought the two of you together in the best of circumstances, but now that you'd found one another, it was going to take an act of God to separate you from him.

You tried to focus on the TV as the screen switched from the video footage back to the studio. There were two reporters, one man and one woman, and they were still discussing the files that had been leaked. Apparently a lot of top secret documents had been released and the media was going crazy. 

The events of the day began to catch up to you again so you stretched out on the couch, and before you knew it, you'd fallen asleep. You were in the middle of a nightmare, men with masks over their faces were dragging Bucky away while Alexander Pierce held you back. He was leaning down, whispering in your ear that there was nothing you could do to save Bucky, he belonged to Hydra and he always would. You couldn't see Bucky, but you could hear his screams as the men in masks began to torture him.

You awoke with a start as the screams continued to echo in your mind. It took you a few moments to realize that they weren't remnants of the nightmare. The screams were actually coming from the next room.


	13. Chapter 13

You jumped up from the couch and raced into the bedroom. Bucky was in the same position he'd been in last night when his nightmare had awoken you then. Now that you knew about the machine, you realized that it was the torture he was reliving his dreams. Last night it had terrified you, but now it broke your heart to see him laying there, his arms and legs pinned to his sides as his back arched up off the bed. The most inhuman screams ripped from his throat as his mind recalled the pain they'd inflicted on him.

You approached the bed, hesitant about what you should do. You were scared to reach out to him in case he thought you were one of his captors and tried to hurt you. The last thing you wanted was for Bucky to feel more guilt where you were concerned, but you just couldn't stand back and do nothing.

Making up your mind, you reached toward his face, your touch gentle as your brushed your fingers down his face. "Bucky. Bucky, wake up. It's only a dream, Bucky. You need to wake up."

You continued to use his name, hoping that he would recognize your voice and know that you meant him no harm. His hair was plastered to his face, so you began to brush it back as you continued trying to walk him

You had knelt on the bed to better reach him, and feeling completely helpless, you took his face in both of your hands and loudly called out his name again.

The screams abruptly stopped as his eyes shot open, but it wasn't Bucky staring back at you. This was the Soldier and you were completely terrified. 

He grabbed your wrists and pulled your hands away from his face as he sat up to face you. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wondered if would kill you before he regained his senses. Your wrists were still sore and his grip was relentless causing you to cry out in pain.

"Bucky?" you pleaded on a sob. "It's me, Bucky. It's (Y/N)!"

You weren't sure if it was your voice repeating his name or your cry of pain, but it was as though a switch had been flipped and his eyes went from cold and menacing to soft and grief-stricken. 

He let go of your wrists and scooted away from you, sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands as he struggled to draw air into his lungs. You rubbed your wrists for a moment before crawling toward him and gingerly reaching out to lay your hand on his shoulder.

He flinched away from your touch, and you debated whether or not you should leave him be, but you knew he'd found comfort in your arms before and he needed comfort now more than ever. You knelt behind him and wrapped your arms around his chest as you laid your head on his shoulder. He didn't try to pull away from you again, and for that you were grateful. 

Eventually, his breathing began to even out, and you could feel his heart starting to slow beneath your hands. It took a few more minutes before he was able to raise his head and take a deep breath.

He began to twist around to look at you, so you dropped your hands and sat back. He traced the outline of your face as he leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," you said, shaking your head.

He gently took your hands and turned them over to look at the bandages on your wrists. There were two small spots of blood seeping through the white gauze that hadn't been there before. "I did hurt you."

You pulled your hands free and framed his face again, forcing him to look at you. "I don't care, Bucky."

"You should care, (Y/N)," he said as he glared at you. "I could have killed you."

"But you didn't," you reasoned. "You realized it was me and you stopped. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have tried to wake you. I know that you wouldn't deliberately hurt me."

You didn't give him a chance to respond as you scooted to the end of the bed and stood. You reached out for his hands and waited until he took them. Once he was standing, you began to lead him toward the bathroom.

"You need to take a shower," you told him as you turned on the water. "The warm water will make you feel better and it'll help clear your head. I'll be right outside if you need me."

You had made it to the door when you heard him softly call your name. Turning back, you saw him looking at you with an expression you couldn't name.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," he whispered.

You knew this was probably a horrible idea, but when he looked like that, you couldn't deny him anything. As you walked back toward him, he held his arms open for you. The bathroom began to fill with steam as the two of you just held onto one another.

He eventually pulled back and turned away from you to pull his shirt over his head. He looked back over his shoulder at you, and you didn't even hesitate as you crossed your arms and grabbed the hem of your shirt. Once he saw that you were going to join him, he took off his pants and walked into the shower.

Taking a deep breath, you finished undressing and followed him in. He was leaning against the wall as the water cascaded down his back. When he heard you enter the shower, he turned to look at you. Not sure where this was leading, you hesitated for a moment before you realized that it wasn't desire in his eyes. He reached out for you, and you willingly went back into his arms. He held onto you like you were his lifeline as the water continued to wash over you.

You felt the shift in mood and took a step back, not wanting him to think that you had any expectations of him. He gave you a lopsided grin as he reached for the bottle of shampoo on the shelf behind him. You took it from him and squeezed a small amount in your hand. He turned around as you began to work the lather through his hair. Turning around again, he leaned his head back to rinse the suds from his hair and you couldn't stop your eyes from wandering down the length of his naked body.

When your eyes finally met his again, you knew that he was aware of your racing heart from the smirk on his face. You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could say a word, he'd pulled you back into his arms and hesitantly brushed his lips across yours.

You didn't want to rush him, knowing that all of the human contact he'd had in the past 70 years had been intended to cause him pain. He reached down and grabbed your hand, placing it on his chest as he lifted his head to look you in the eye.

"My heart is racing too," he told you.

You could feel his heart pounding within his chest and a smile spread across your face. Sliding your hands up and over his shoulders, you buried them in his wet hair as he leaned in to kiss you again. All the doubts you'd previously had were washed away as he turned off the shower and picked you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you back into the bedroom, both of you still dripping wet.

He knelt at the bottom of the bed and carefully lay you down on the still rumpled sheets. He lay above you, his mouth leaving a trail of fire down your throat as he began to kiss his way down your body. His touch was like a whisper as he hesitantly caressed every inch of you. He'd been reluctant to touch you with his left hand, but once you'd held it against your cheek as you kissed him again, he grew more confident.

Your hands glided over his wet skin as he continued to explore your body, paying attention to the spots that had you moaning in pleasure. He was the most attentive lover you'd ever had, and you marveled at how someone who'd been forced to inflict pain for so many years could be so tender and gentle. You weren't sure if he'd been this generous of a lover before the war, but you found that you didn't care. This was your Bucky and you were the one in his arms right now. You were the one tumbling over the edge and you happily took him with you.


	14. Chapter 14

The quiet roll of thunder in the distance woke you from your dreams. You lay in bed for a moment as you listened to the thunderstorm grow closer. You were laying on your side, Bucky's arm around your waist. Your fingers were intertwined with his as your joined hands lay over your heart. You could feel the even rise and fall of his chest behind you, and you were glad that he was finally sleeping peacefully again. As you lay in his embrace, listening to the storm, your thoughts began to wonder back to before you'd fallen asleep in his arms.

After you'd made a trip to the bathroom for another shower, Bucky had gone into the kitchen to get his notebook. You'd sat with your back against the headboard while Bucky had lain in your lap, diligently writing down every aspect of the nightmare he could remember. You'd been content to run your hands through his hair, the pen flying across the paper as though he couldn't get the words out fast enough. You felt him tense up when he wrote about the torture, but you stayed silent and allowed him to find solace in his writing.

Eventually he'd let out a sigh and closed the notebook. Placing it on the nightstand, he flipped the switch to plunge the room back into darkness as he turned back to you and pulled you into his arms. The two of you hadn't needed to speak, the intimacy of the embrace was enough to let you know how he felt. You weren't sure when you'd drifted off, but you knew you'd never slept as peacefully as you did in his arms.

The thunder was growing louder by the minute, and you knew the exact moment that it had awoken him. "It's just a storm," you whispered. 

He pulled you closer to him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. A bolt of lightning lit up the room, and a loud crack of thunder soon followed. You could feel him starting to grow anxious behind you, so you turned around to face him.

Placing your hands alongside his face, you smiled at him as another flash of lightning revealed his face to you. Seeing your smile had him relaxing a bit, but then the crack of thunder had him tensing again. You leaned in closer to him and tentatively kissed him in the dark. His hand went to your waist as he rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him.

When you let out a startled gasp, you could feel his lips turn up in a smile. Not one to waste an opportunity, his tongue swept across your parted lips to tangle with yours. Your legs slid to either side of his hips as he began to sit up, his hands still on your waist. 

You'd only bothered to pull on a t-shirt after the second shower, and his hands were currently dragging the thin material up your body as his fingers slid over your rib cage. You broke away from the kiss only to raise your hands above your head so he could rid you of the shirt. Once he'd tossed it across the room, your hands were back in his hair as you fitted your mouth to his again.

The storm had electrified the atmosphere around you, and Bucky seemed to be more sure of himself as his hands continued caressing you, remembering the places that had brought you the most pleasure from before. 

His lips left yours and you let out a whimper of protest before his nose nudged your chin up and he began to place hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin along the side of your neck. He continued his journey down to your collarbone where his tongue dipped into the valley between your neck and your shoulder.

Your moan of pleasure had his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to him. You trailed your hands down the back of his neck to his shoulders and you felt him tense beneath you as your fingers came into contact with the scar tissue surrounding his arm. Lightning flashed again and you could see the hesitation in his eyes. Taking a chance, you began to run your fingers over the thick ribbons of scars that radiated outward from his shoulder. Your touch was gentle, but you could tell that he was still nervous. It wasn't until you leaned down to brush your lips over the scars that he finally began to relax. You let your hand trail down the smooth metal plates, amazed at how they shifted when he moved his arm. There was a faint mechanical sound that made you think of gears in a clock, although you knew it was more complex than that.

His hand came back to your face as he turned your head towards him, his lips capturing yours again. Your fascination with his arm soon faded away as your attention turned to other matters. The storm continued to rage around you, but the two of you were oblivious as passion began to consume you.

 

 

 

When you awoke again, the storm had passed, but the early morning light was muted and you knew the storm had left behind a thick layer of clouds that would most likely stay for the rest of the day. You were laying across Bucky's chest, and for once, you could sense the change in his mood based on the heartbeat you felt beneath your hand.

"Good morning," you said as you craned your neck to meet his eyes.

He smiled down at you, and you couldn't stop your fingers from reaching up and brushing across the little lines that radiated out from the corners of his eyes. 

"Are you hungry?" you asked.

"I'm starving," he answered.

You let out a chuckle. "What would you like for breakfast?"

He gave you a quizzical look before shaking his head. "You decide."

Remembering that he had little to no memories of what his life was like before Hydra, you reworded your question. "I can make biscuits and gravy, pancakes, waffles, or bacon and eggs again. Does any of that sound good to you?"

He took a moment to think about your question, his brow furrowing in concentration. After a few moments, his expression softened and he answered you. "Let's try pancakes."

Reluctantly you untangled yourself from him and began searching for your clothes. Once you were decent enough, you gave him a wink and began walking to the kitchen.

He wasn't too far behind you, pulling a shirt over his head as he stopped to look at the TV screen. You'd turned the volume down after he'd gone to bed last night, but you'd fallen asleep with it still on the news station.

A different reporter from last night was standing outside of what looked to be a hospital, giving a report. "The remote is on the coffee table. There's an up arrow on the left side that will increase the volume."

Bucky picked up the remote and after a few moments, he pointed it at the TV and pressed the volume button until you could both hear what he was saying.

"Captain Rogers' doctors have just released an update on his condition. He's still in the ICU, but he is awake and able to talk. He is no longer considered to be in serious condition, and the doctors are optimistic about him making a full recovery. Lynn, back to you."

The scene switched back to the reporter in the studio. Behind her was a grainy picture of what appeared to be Bucky in his Winter Soldier uniform. 

"Authorities are on the lookout for this man, who remains unnamed at this time, for questioning regarding the events in Washington DC earlier this week. Authorities are cautioning the public that he is armed and dangerous and he is not to be approached. If anyone has any information on the whereabouts of this man, they are to contact Homeland Security at 202-555-0384."

You walked up behind him and took the remote from his hand, turning the TV off. You could see the guilt settling in again from the way his shoulders slumped. "They don't know the whole story, Bucky."

"You don't understand, (Y/N)," he said as he turned to look at you. "They aren't going to stop to ask questions. They'll kill me on sight and worry about cleaning up the mess later."

"Then we won't give them an opportunity," you said as you laid your hands on his shoulders. "We still have plenty of time to hide out here. By the time we need to leave, they will have expanded their search well beyond our location."

"I don't think you've thought this through," he cautioned. "I can't hide forever."

"I have thought this through, and I have a plan."


	15. Chapter 15

Bucky gave you a questioning look. "What plan?"

You took his hand and led him back to the island. Once he'd sat on the barstool, you began to gather the ingredients for pancakes as you explained what you though the two of you should do.

"Obviously, I think we need to stay here for the next two weeks," you told him as you placed the sausage patties into a skillet and cracked the eggs into the mixing bowl. "It would be foolish to leave the safety and isolation this house affords us."

You turned back around to face him, mixing the batter as you continued to speak. "Once Aaron and Olivia are on their way back, we'll head to my apartment." You stopped to pour the batter into the heated skillet on the stove. "We'll need to assess how tight security is before we continue up to DC."

"Why are we going back to DC?" he asked in confusion. "I just spent three days getting away from there."

You flipped the pancakes and the sausage before turning back to him again. "We need to get to Captain Rogers." You waited for a second to see how he would react to your suggestion. When he slowly began to nod his head, you let out a relieved smile.

"That's actually a good idea," he told you. "Steve will know what to do, he'll figure out a way to keep them from killing me." 

His face was full of hope for the first time since you'd met him, but it didn't last. The longer he thought about your plan, the faster the worry lines began to deepen on his face.

"What's wrong?" you asked as your brow knitted in confusion.

"How are we going to get to him?"

"He's still in the ICU," you explained. "I'm hoping that he'll have been moved to a private room by the time we're ready to leave. I know he heals fast, but if he's as bad off as you say he is, he'll still need time for his body to heal. One of my exes and I went to a Halloween party as doctors, so I still have scrubs and white coats that we can wear to help get us into his room."

Bucky listened to your plan, and the more you kept talking, the more optimistic he seemed to be. "That's a really good plan, (Y/N). I think it might actually work." He stopped, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as he began to contemplate something. "I'm just worried about what could happen if we're stopped. I'm pretty sure I can defend us both, but if we were to get separated. . ."

"Then you'll just have to teach me how to defend myself," you interrupted as you put together the breakfast plates. "We have absolutely nothing to do for the next two weeks. I know a few self-defense moves, but I'm sure you can teach me how to actually fight."

Bucky's eyes had grown wide at your suggestion. "I don't. . .I mean. . .it sounds like. . .I'm not sure that's a good idea"

You gave him a smile as you leaned across the island to place a quick kiss on his lips. "I think it's a great idea."

He stared down at his pancakes for a minute as you walked around to sit beside him. You'd grabbed a few containers of fresh fruit from the refrigerator and you opened the strawberries to choose a few to put on your pancakes. He watched as you drizzled syrup over the pancakes and sausage before squirting a ribbon of whipped cream over the fruit.

"Try some of the fruit," you suggested. "The blueberries are a little tart, but they should be good with the syrup and whipped cream."

He began to fix his breakfast as you'd suggested, but he wasn't through with your previous conversation. "What if I hurt you?"

You finished chewing your food before swallowing. "What do you mean?"

"If I teach you how to fight," he clarified. "What if I hurt you?"

You reached out to grab his chin, forcing him to look at you. "Will you mean to hurt me? No. Will I end up with some bumps and bruises? Probably. Do I care? Absolutely not." You moved your hand to cup the side of his cheek as your features softened. "I would rather take a few hits now and know that I can take care of myself later than to have to live with the guilt if something happened to you while you were trying to protect me."

He listened to your words, his eyes searching yours to make sure you truly meant what you said. "Okay then. Let's finish breakfast and then I'll show you a few things."

You gave him a huge smile and a noisy kiss before turning back to your breakfast. Bucky hesitated a few moments, but eventually he went back to eating as well.

Just like the night before, he took the empty plates and placed them in the dishwasher along with the pans you'd used. He watched in curiosity as you poured the dishwasher detergent into the slots and shut the door. When the machine began to run through it's cycle, he cocked his head in wonder.

"That's it?" he asked. "You just put the dishes in there, add a bit of goo, and it just washes them by itself?"

"Modern technology is amazing," you told him. "Wait until you see the washer and dryer. Which reminds me, I never folded the sheets I washed yesterday."

You walked into the laundry room off of the kitchen and turned the dryer back on to fluff the wrinkles out of them as you started back toward the bedroom. "Why don't you grab a shower while I make the bed and fold the sheets?"

Bucky reached out to grab you around the waist as you started to walk past him. Pulling you back against his chest, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck as he spoke. "I'd rather you join me in the shower after we do a bit of training." He let go of you and started toward the bedroom. "I'll help you make the bed and fold the sheets, it'll go quicker that way."

You mouth was hung open in shock. First of all, you couldn't get over the change in him since last night. You loved that he showed no hesitation in touching or teasing you. Secondly, you couldn't believe you'd actually stumbled upon a man that was not only willing to help do chores, but actually offered to do them without any nagging on your part. Ex assassin notwithstanding, he was beginning to look like the perfect guy.

You should have known that making the bed with Bucky wasn't going to be that easy. He was in a good mood knowing that the two of you had a plan, and that the plan had a good chance of working. He was smiling as he came up behind you while you were bent over straightening the sheets. Before you could protest, he had you flat on your back again as his hands began to quickly rid you of your clothes. There was nothing slow and tender about this time, but you were sure you were seeing a side of him that had been locked away for decades. He alternated between caressing you and tickling you so often, you had no idea what to expect next. You had never realized how much fun sex could be, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was how he'd been such a successful ladies man in the past. Who wouldn't want to be with a guy like this?

You lay sprawled across his chest, too spent to actually move, and looked at the mess the two of you had made of the sheets. "There's no point in trying to make this bed," you said. "These sheets are going to have to washed. We might as well strip them and throw them in the wash. We'll just put the clean sheets from the dryer back on."

You could feel the rumble of laughter welling up inside him. "I think you might be right." He rolled you over onto your back as he began to rise from the bed. He reached down for your hand and helped pull you to your feet. 

The two of you quickly pulled off the sheets and walked back to the laundry room. He watched in awe as you tossed the sheets into the washer and added detergent and fabric softener. He began to shake his head in wonder as the machine began to fill with water.

Once the bed had been made, the two of you began to move the furniture around in the living room to give you space to begin training. Bucky spent the first hour just showing you how to stand and block his punches. He was a patient teacher, but you knew that if someone did come after the two of you, you'd need to know more than how to block. 

When he was satisfied that you'd mastered the art of blocking a punch, he then moved on to teaching you how to fall. You thought he was joking at first, but he just shook his head and grabbed the cushions off of the couch. For the next thirty minutes you let him lightly hit you in various ways so you could learn how to use his momentum to your advantage.

After what felt like the thousandth time, you lay on the cushions and refused to get up. Concerned, he rushed to your side, only to have you pull out one of your self-defense tactics and flip him over you to land on the cushion beside you. With a giggle, you quickly shifted so that your legs were on either side of his hips and buried your hands in his hair.

Quick to catch up with your train of thought, he framed your face with his hands and pulled you closer to him. You were exhausted from the training, but kissing Bucky was like getting a second wind. He twisted and flipped you over so that you were now the one beneath him, and you could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he continued to kiss you senseless.

When he suddenly stood, you were worried that you might have done something wrong, but all doubts were erased when he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

"It's time for that shower, doll," he told you as he carried you toward the bathroom.

You were appalled at the way he'd manhandled you, but you couldn't keep the goofy grin off of your face. If you'd had to wager a guess, this was going to be the best shower of your life.


	16. Chapter 16

You and Bucky fell into a comfortable routine over the next two weeks. Mornings were spent in bed as the two of you continued to learn every inch of the other's body, followed by breakfast and then training. Bucky was slowing discovering his preferences when it came to food, and it always brought a smile to your face when he requested something before you even had the chance to ask. Your training was coming along nicely, as well. You'd never stand a chance against someone like Captain Rogers, or even Bucky himself, but you'd be able to hold your own against a normal opponent.

Once the two of you would finally make it out of the shower, you'd either call or text Olivia to check in with her and Aaron. The sudden disruption of the phone still caused Bucky a moment of panic, so you tried to to limit those interruptions. Cindy was still a problem, but you'd added her into your routine. She always watered her flowers at the same time each morning, just before noon, so you made it a point to water Olivia's at the same time so you could wave at her from across the way. She seemed to have let her suspicions die since she never came back over to the house.

Bucky would spend a few minutes each day writing in his journal while you took care of straightening up the house. He'd protested at first, wanting to help, but you reminded him that he needed to keep writing down his memories as they came to him. He'd let you read the journal a few times, but you tried to focus on the memories of his past in Brooklyn, skimming over the torture and killings during his time with Hydra.

Bucky was so far behind on pop culture and current events, so you'd introduced him to Netflix and the two of you would spend a few hours each day watching historical documentaries and your favorite movies. Each day he seemed to be more of the man you assumed he used to be and less of the monster Hydra had tried to create. He never failed to talk about Steve every single day, whether it was wondering how he was recovering, or telling you yet another anecdote about him starting a fight back before the war. You were slowly becoming convinced that Steve Rogers was intent on getting beat up every day of his life.

The nights were the most stressful time. Some nights would go by peacefully, but others would find you waking up to the sounds of his screams. It broke your heart every time he had another nightmare, but you knew it was his brain's way of dealing with the years of trauma and abuse. The longer the two of you spent together, the easier it was for you to bring him back to reality after he awoke. You would spend hours just holding him and running your hands through his hair or stroking his back as he struggled to push past the fear and finally fall back asleep.

The night before it was time for you to leave was an extremely stressful one for the both of you. You'd been keeping an eye on Captain Rogers' condition, and thankfully he was recovering, but he hadn't been released from the hospital yet. You weren't sure what you would do if he'd gone home, since neither you nor Bucky knew where he lived.

You were completely packed and had loaded up your SUV in preparation for leaving first thing in the morning. Aaron and Olivia weren't due back until around 1 pm, but you thought it was best to be back at your place by the time they arrived home. This was your normal routine, so they weren't suspicious at all.

"So, explain to me how this is going to work again," Bucky said as he lay on his back in the bed with you curled up next to him.

"We'll get up around 5 am and grab a quick bite to eat, probably just a bowl of cereal," you explained again. "You'll get into the back of the car and I'll pull the privacy screen over you so no one will be able to see you. It'll take just over an hour to get to my townhouse outside of Richmond, so we won't need to stop for anything."

You could feel the tension in him as he ran his hand up and down your back. "Okay, that sounds good. You said you have a garage in your townhouse, so no one will see me getting out of the back of your car."

"Exactly," you assured him. "We'll stay at my place tomorrow and then we'll head into DC the next day. I've got a friend that works at the Smithsonian. I'll call her tomorrow and tell her that I'm coming into the city to plan my annual field trip, but I wanted to see how tight security is so I can plan for delays. I do this every year, so she won't question it all."

"I think this plan might work, (Y/N)," he said as you felt him start to relax. "Do we really have to go to the Smithsonian first?"

You raised up on your elbow to look at him. "I know it's a risk, but I really think it would be good for you to see the Captain America exhibit. There's so much information about you and your life. I can tell you all about it, but I really think that seeing it firsthand will help you connect with your past. Plus, we need to wait until shift change at the hospital to sneak in, and I want to make sure we're in the city well before that happens just in case we run into any snags."

"You're amazing, do you know that?" Bucky leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips before laying back down and closing his eyes. "This a solid plan and I think we've accounted for just about all of the possible contingencies."

"I think so too, Bucky," you told him as you lay back down, your head nestled into the crook of his arm. "Let's try to get some sleep, 5 am is going to come pretty early."

 

 

 

 

You made one last sweep of the house, careful to make sure neither you nor Bucky had left anything behind. He'd wanted to throw the uniform Hydra had forced him to wear in the trash, but you were worried that Aaron might miss some of his clothes. You'd washed up everything that Bucky had worn for the past two weeks, but until you could buy him some new clothes, what he'd been wearing when he showed up that first night was what he was stuck with.

Getting Bucky into the back of your SUV was quite amusing. It wasn't a large trunk area, but he managed to fit if he curled up into a ball. You leaned down and gave him one last kiss before pulling the privacy screen over him and closing the hatch. The drive was completely uneventful and you made pretty good time back to your townhouse, but you were still relieved to back into your garage and shut the door.

Bucky was stiff from being cooped up in the tight space for so long, but he still insisted on carrying your luggage upstairs. You couldn't figure out why you were so nervous having Bucky in your house. You'd stopped being scared of him after that first night, but there was just something about having him in your own space that put you on edge.

He set the cases down in the living room as he began to roam around your house. You could see the smile on his face as he looked at the photographs scattered on various pieces of furniture. It was then that it hit you why you were so uncomfortable. This was the first time Bucky was seeing the real you, and you were worried that he wouldn't like what he saw.

You watched in silence as he came to a photo sitting beside the television. He picked it up and brought it closer to his face. You knew it was a picture of your class from last year at the Smithsonian, but it wasn't until you walked up beside him and saw him run a finger over the glass that you realized what had drawn him to it. You always had your class stand in front of the display of the Howling Commando's uniforms. Behind each mannequin was a larger than life photo of each of the men. You weren't sure how long it had been since he'd seen a picture of himself from before he was captured, but you could tell he was trying to find some connection between the image in the photograph and who he was today.

You took the photo from him and placed it back on the cabinet. "I'm going to run to the store real quick and pick up some clothes for you to wear." He gave you a worried look as you took his hands in yours. "It'll be okay. No one has any reason to suspect that I even know you. I won't be gone more than an hour."

Bucky had requested layers, so you'd ended up getting a pair of dark blue jeans, a few black t-shirts, and an army-green lightweight denim jacket. He'd said that he could still wear the boots he had, so you skipped foot ware, but grabbed some extra socks while you were in the underwear section. Knowing that he would have to keep his left hand hidden, you also picked up a pair of black leather gloves. As you were checking out, you saw a display with ball caps and on an impulse, you grabbed a plain black one. It wasn't much of a disguise, but until you could get to the hospital and change into the scrubs, it would have to do.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, scanning the news channels when you returned. You could see the relief in the set of his shoulders as you walked through the door. You knew the next few days were going to be tense, but you just kept reminding yourself that once the two of you got to Captain Rogers, everything was going to be fine.


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky had been restless all night, and you attributed it to the fact that he was in a new place and the both of you were so nervous about the following day. You'd lain awake most of the night, going over the plan again and again in your mind. It was a good plan, a solid plan, but there was still a chance that it wouldn't work. You weren't sure if you were prepared to lose Bucky if something went wrong, but you knew he needed more help than you were capable of giving him. Captain Rogers was your only hope.

It was a two hour drive from Richmond to DC and shift change at the hospital wasn't until 7 pm. The Smithsonian was open until 6 pm, so you decided to leave your house at 2:30 pm, just in case you ran into traffic. You'd called your friend Kerri at the museum and she assured you that security into the city wasn't an issue, it was getting out of the city that was the problem. You told her what your plans were, and she arranged to meet you at the back entrance of the museum between 4:30 and 5 pm.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to actually meet up with your friend at the museum?" Bucky asked after you'd hung up the phone.

"It's actually our only option," you explained. "The main entrance is equipped with metal detectors, so by going in through the back, we can avoid them."

Bucky glanced at his left arm before nodding his agreement. "What are you going to tell her about me?"

You took a moment to think. "I'm going to go with a bit of the truth. I'm going to tell her that you're a historian whose expertise is in WWII and the Howling Commandos."

Bucky gave you a smirk as he rolled his eyes. "You've thought of just about everything, haven't you?"

Taking a deep breath, you laid your hand on his shoulder. "I hope so. I just want to get to the Captain so we can figure out what to do next."

Bucky pulled you into his arms as he kissed your forehead. "Me too, (Y/N), me too."

 

 

 

 

You were too nervous to have Bucky in the front seat of the car during the trip to Richmond, so he stayed in the back again. You'd picked up a burner phone from the convenience store down the street just in case the two of you were separated in DC. 

The trip went by smoothly, and you only got held up in road construction a few times, so it was closer to five o'clock before you made it into the city. There was a parking garage a few blocks from the museum where you parked your car on the top level in a dark corner. Bucky climbed out of the back and adjusted his hat before following you to the elevators.

"I think we should hold hands while we're walking on the street," you told him as you rode down to the ground level.

"Why?"

"If anyone is looking for you, they'll be looking for a scary guy on his own, not a happy couple."

Bucky didn't say anything as he interlaced his fingers with yours. The glove on his hand felt odd, but you knew it was necessary. You could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves as the elevator doors opened.

You started to walk toward the museum, but Bucky pulled you back into a darkened corner. "What's wrong, Bucky?"

"I need you to promise me something," he said, as he held his free hand against your cheek. "I know we've been training, and you feel confident that you can handle yourself if things start to go bad." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, doll. If things get too bad, promise me that you'll get out, you'll get to safety. . ."

"Bucky," you interrupted, panic creeping into your voice.

The set of his eyes let you know that he was dead serious about his request, but it was the sound of his voice that completely shattered your heart. "(Y/N), please just promise me you'll do this one thing?"

The last thing you wanted to do was to leave his side, but deep down you knew he was right. It would kill you to do it, but if it came down to it, you'd do as he asked. "Okay, Bucky, I promise."

Bucky pulled you into his arms for one last embrace before you turned back to the sidewalk and began to make your way to the museum. When you'd gotten close to the back door, you'd dropped Bucky's hand. As you started to knock on the door, it suddenly opened to reveal Kerri. You gave Kerri and quick hug and introduced her to Bucky and as began leading you into the museum. 

You and Kerri talked about the upcoming field trip while Bucky began to slowly move about the exhibit. You kept one eye on him, nervous that someone might recognize him and sound the alarm. You talked to Kerri for about an hour before she was called away on other business. She told you to make your way out the same way you'd come in as you said your goodbyes.

You had a moment of panic when you couldn't find Bucky, but after a quick search of the room, you found him standing in front of the memorial to himself. You wanted to rush up to him, but when you saw the look on his face, you hung back for a moment to give him time to process.

If you hadn't been with him every waking moment for the past two weeks, you would have been like everyone else in this museum who was completely oblivious to the turmoil he was going through at the moment. To the casual observer, he was just a man standing in front of display, reading the information, but you knew better. You saw his lips part as he sharply inhaled, and then his eyes grew a little darker as his jaw began to clench in anger. You knew in that moment bringing him here was the right thing to do. He needed this reminder, this glimpse into his past, to help him see just who he used to be, who he could be again in time.

Walking up to him, you pulled one of his hands from his pocket and twined your fingers with his. "Are you okay?"

"I thought this was a stupid risk to take," he said, finally tearing his eyes away from the display to look at you. "You were right, though. I needed this." He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the video footage showing on one of the TV screens. He and Steve were laughing about something and they looked so young, so innocent and full of life. "I needed to remember who Bucky Barnes really was."

"Are you ready to go?"

He looked back down at you with a smile. "I'm ready to go get my life back."

The two of you quietly left the museum through the back exit and began the short walk back to the car. The hospital was on the other side of town, so you had about an hour before shift change. Traffic was congested as people were getting off of work and trying to make their way home, so it took you longer to get to the hospital than you'd originally planned, but you still made it there before 7 o'clock.

As the two of you got out the car, you opened the back door and grabbed the two plastic bags with your disguises. Handing one to Bucky, he peeked inside and nodded his head.

"What about my journal?"

You took a moment to consider your options. "I think it's best if we leave it in the car. It might look suspicious if you're carrying it around. I can always run back out and grab it once we've made arrangements with Captain Rogers to get you to a safe house." You closed the door and started walking toward the back entrance of the hospital. "We need to wait until someone is coming out before we can get in. Most hospitals use a key card to open the doors, but that's something we don't have.

"Once we're inside, we'll find the closest restrooms and change. Put your clothes back in the bag and stuff them in the bottom of the trash can." You took a deep breath as you neared the door, praying that someone would come out so you weren't forced to stand out in the open for too long. "Once we're changed we'll head to the third floor."

Bucky grabbed your hand and turned you to look at him. "Whatever happens in the next few minutes, just know that I'm extremely grateful for everything you've done for me, (Y/N)."

Not knowing if you'd ever get the chance to do so again, you reached up to cup Bucky's face and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around you and for a moment, you forgot where you were. The sound of the door opening brought the two of you back to reality.

The doctor that was leaving gave the two of you a wink and a smile as he walked past. Bucky reached out and grabbed the door just before it closed. It was now or never.

There were a set of bathrooms around the corner from the back door and you and Bucky spilt up to get changed. You took a look at yourself in the mirror and decided that it wasn't a perfect disguise, but it would have to do.

Bucky was waiting in the hallway when you exited the bathroom. He'd pulled his hair into a small bun at the nape of his neck and he had his left hand in the pocket of his coat to hide the fact that it was made of metal. He gave you one final nod before you went searching for the elevators.

"It'll be best if we don't ask any questions," you told him on the ride up to the third floor. "If you act like you belong somewhere, then most people won't question you at all. When we get to the third floor, go straight to the nurses station. You grab a chart to read while I start looking at the patient board. Hopefully we can find Captain Rogers before we get caught."

"Just grab a chart?" Bucky asked. 

"This is a big hospital, so most of the nurses will just assume you're a new doctor," you explained. "Just remember to pretend that you belong. Hide in plain sight."

"I'm used to hiding in the shadows," he told you. "I don't like that we're going to be out in the open so much."

"If they are expecting you to come back to kill Captain Rogers, then they'll be looking for the man on the news. You don't look like him. You look like a doctor, so if you act like one, that's all they'll see."

The elevator doors opened and you squared your shoulders, trying to put on an air of authority as you strode to the nurses station. You gestured to the rack of patient charts and Bucky immediate grabbed one and pretended to read. You glanced towards the nurses, but they only gave you a cursory glance before resuming their conversation. You scanned the board and quickly found what you were looking for. Captain Rogers was in room 384.

"Dr. Barnes, are you ready?"

Bucky closed the chart and put it back in its spot before turning and following you down the hallway. As you neared room 384 you could see a man in uniform sitting outside of the door. Reminding yourself of your own advice, you wiped the worried look off of your face and hoped that you'd be able to talk your way into his room.

You were almost there, only about a hundred feet away when you felt a sharp point dig into the small of your back. A hand wrapped around your arm and fear began coursing through your body. Sensing your fear, Bucky turned toward you and his face grew murderous as he recognized the man behind you.

"Make one move солдат, and the pretty lady will be dead before she hits the ground."


	18. Chapter 18

Remembering the moves Bucky had taught you, you tried to to twist away from your assailant, but he had been prepared for your attempt and dug the point of his weapon deeper into your skin. You could feel the warm trickle of blood as it began to run down your back.

"You recognize me, don't you, солдат?" the man asked as he began to pull you backwards into an empty room. He held you close to him, the sharp object still digging into your back, but you'd yet to see his face. 

You'd never seen Bucky look like this, not even the night he'd broken into the house. You didn't know who this man was, but you were pretty sure he was a member of Hydra. Anger began to replace the fear as you realized that he was most likely one of the men that had tortured Bucky for all of those years.

Bucky still wasn't saying anything, but the man kept talking. "What I can't figure out is what you're doing here. Are you here to finish off Rogers like a good little soldier, or did you remember him again?"

You could tell Bucky was desperately trying to figure a way out of this situation, and he was trying not to play into the man's hands, but at the mention of Steve, even you could see the look in his eyes.

"Ah, so you do remember him," the man said with a tsking sound. "Did you forget what we did to you the last time you remembered him? A soldier isn't any good if he can't follow orders."

"Let her go," Bucky finally said, his voice full of quiet malice. "You can have me, but just let her go."

"I don't think so, солдат," the man said as he dug the point deeper still, causing you to let out a gasp of pain.

Bucky flinched, ready to attack the man, but he began pulling you further into the room.

"As you can see, I'm not exactly in the best of shape right now," he continued. "I think your little friend is going to have to accompany us for a little bit. At least until I can get you back under control."

"Bucky no," you pleaded. "You need to get to the Captain. Don't worry about me, just go."

"Aw, isn't that sweet." The man leaned down and gave you a kiss on the cheek as he spoke. "Your little girlfriend here is all ready to sacrifice her life for you. Does she know what a monster you are?"

"He's not a monster," you spat as you jerked your head away from him.

"She's a feisty one, isn't she?"

You could feel him chuckle behind you and it disgusted you even more. Your eyes began to dart around the room, looking for anything that you could use to get away from this maniac.

"We never gave him a woman to play with," the man said, licking the side of your neck and causing you to cringe. "The Asset wasn't known for being gentle, but maybe you liked that. Did you? Do you like it a little rough? If that's what you're into, I could show you a better time than this broken down shell of a man."

"Enough," Bucky barked. "We're wasting time. It's me you want. I'll go willingly if you promise you'll let her go once you get what you want."

"Fine," he said as he pushed you toward the door. "You lead the way, солдат, and the pretty lady and I will follow behind."

The man shifted, putting his arm around your shoulders and leaned on you like you were supporting him. You looked down and saw the scalpel in his hand before you felt it digging into your side.

"Wrap your arm around my waist, darlin'."

You looked up at him for the first time and let out a gasp of horror. The entire left side of his face looked as though it had been burned away. Now you finally understood why he needed you as a hostage to keep Bucky compliant. With the severity of his injuries, you were surprised he was even alive.

Bucky began walking out of the room, but kept throwing glances over his shoulder to make sure you were okay. You could see the pent up rage in the set of his shoulders and you knew if the opportunity arose, the man beside you would be dead in a heartbeat.

"I assume you have a car?" he asked as Bucky stepped into the empty elevator. He made sure to keep you between him and Bucky as you rode back down to the ground level. 

Bucky never answered him, but exited the elevator and headed back toward the door you'd come in not thirty minutes ago. It was hard to believe that only a half hour ago, you were so full of hope, so convinced that you were finally going to get Bucky somewhere safe. Guilt started to eat you alive as you realized that you had escorted Bucky right back into the hands of Hydra.

Your captor dropped the arm from around your shoulders and patted the pockets of your lab coat, looking for the keys. Finding them, he tossed them to Bucky and instructed him to get in the car and put his hands on the steering wheel. He walked you around the front of the car and opened the back door. Pushing you in ahead of him, he crawled in behind you and placed the scalpel at the base of your throat. You tried not to cry out in pain as he dug the sharpened blade into your skin so that a thin trickle of blood ran down your neck.

"One wrong move, солдат, and she dies," he warned.

Bucky started the car and began to follow the man's directions. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you knew that whatever waited for you at your destination was something you didn't want to see.

It took about an hour for Bucky to fight through traffic to get to your destination. Fear and worry were eating away at your gut and the adrenaline rushing through your veins was making you edgy.

Finally, the man instructed Bucky to pull around the back of the abandoned building he'd come to. You tried to get a good look at the building and the street name, just in case you were able to get away.

Bucky kept his hands on the steering wheel as the man pulled you from the backseat of the car. Once Bucky was out, he ordered him to break the lock on the back door and go inside. Bucky acted like he wanted to challenge the man, but he dug the scalpel a little deeper and the pain had a wave of nausea rolling through you.

Bucky's face was full of concern as he saw your pained expression, so he did as he was told and entered the building. 

It was dark inside, the evening sun filtering in through the cracks in the boarded up windows just enough for you to make out the hallway before you. Once you were inside, it seemed as though Bucky knew exactly where to go, and that worried you. This was somewhere he'd been before, and you were terrified you knew exactly what you were about to witness.

When you saw the enormous round steel door, you knew at once you were in a bank vault, but when the man holding you flipped a switch to flood the room with light, you realized your worst nightmare was coming true.

"You've gotten what you wanted," Bucky said as he eyed the machine in the middle of the room. "Let her go."

The man tightened his hold on you. "Not just yet, солдат. I need you strapped down before I'll let her go."

Bucky looked like he wanted to argue, but when the man began to slide the blade across your neck, he held up his hands and took a seat. The man pushed you closer to the control panel and began to chuckle.

"I need you to push that green button there, sweetheart."

"No," you protested, not willing to be the one to put Bucky through this horror again.

"It's okay, YN," Bucky told you with a sad smile. "You don't have a choice. I don't blame you for any of this."

Tears began to cloud your vision as your captor began digging the blade into your neck again. There was a part of you that wanted to let him kill you, just so Bucky could be free, but you remembered what he'd asked of you back in the parking garage and you just couldn't go back on your promise to him.

"I'm sorry, Bucky," you sobbed as you pushed the button. 

At once, steel restraints encircled his arms and legs as two metal plates began descending over his head. Bucky had described this machine to you, but you hadn't truly been prepared for just how horrendous it really was.

"Let her go," Bucky ordered. "We had a deal."

"You know what? I don't think I'm going to honor that deal."

Bucky's eyes filled with rage as he began to fight against his restraints. "I did what you wanted. Let her go."

"I'm the one calling the shots around here," he reminded Bucky. "You've disobeyed orders and you need to be punished for that. I think I'm going to make you watch while I show her what it's like to be with a real man, and then I'm going to sit back and watch while the Soldier takes her apart limb by limb."

"NO," Bucky screamed as the plates settled down on his face and his back arched up in pain.

For a moment you were frozen in horror. This was what had haunted his dreams for the past few weeks, and seeing him in pain like this was almost enough to break you. You knew you couldn't let the monster behind you get away with this, but you also knew you had to wait until you were sure you could defeat him.


	19. Chapter 19

The man behind you loosened his grip a little, but you wanted to make sure you were completely out of his grasp before you attempted anything. You tried to keep your focus on the scarred man and not on the screams coming from Bucky. The more Bucky screamed, the more the man continued to laugh and the sound was like nails on a chalkboard to you. You focused on his laugh, on the rage you felt, needing your anger to keep you centered on your objective.

When Bucky stopped screaming and the metal plates began rotating away from his face, the man behind you finally let you go and moved to the control panel. He pressed another button, and the restraints retracted. Bucky sat silently in the chair, but it wasn't Bucky. There was a cold, dead look in his eyes, and you knew instantly that your Bucky had been wiped away. A sudden realization washed over you as you came to terms with the fact that the soldier in front of you wouldn't try to protect you any longer. He had no idea who you were, or what you might mean to him. You wanted to break down and cry at the injustice of it all, but you knew if you let your assailant have his way, Bucky would never forgive himself once he broke free again, if he ever broke free again.

The man took a step back and Bucky began to rise from the chair. Using his distraction to your advantage, you grabbed the scalpel from his hand and plunged it into the side of his neck. Not knowing what would happen, you pressed the green button again. The machine came to life, even though there was no one strapped into it.

"You bitch," he screamed as he tried to staunch the blood pouring from the wound on his neck.

"Bucky?" you asked, but it was as though he hadn't heard you. All of your instincts told you to run, but you couldn't stand the thought of leaving him here.

"Kill her, солдат," the man ordered and Bucky turned those vacant eyes toward you.

Fear gripped you as you realized that Bucky would indeed try to kill you. You turned to run just as the machine came to life. You looked over you shoulder to see the arcs of electric current start to bounce all over the room. A spark hit some part of the machine and it suddenly exploded. Not waiting around to see what was going to happen next, you began to run back toward the exit.

You burst through the door and turned around to see a cloud of dust start to roll out of the door you'd left open. You heard a loud explosion as the ground beneath you began to shake. Running to the car, you offered a prayer of thanks that Bucky had left it unlocked with the keys still in the ignition. Gunning the engine, you tore out of the parking lot just as the building started to cave in on itself.

Not wanting to have to deal with the police, you sped off toward the interstate, desperate to get away from this nightmare. You drove on autopilot, vaguely aware of the checkpoint you'd driven through to get out of the city. It wasn't until you pulled up in front of your townhouse that you finally came back to your senses.

You managed to keep yourself together as you parked the car in the garage and made it up the stairs. Once the door had closed behind you, you collapsed in the floor, the dam inside of finally bursting as you realized that Bucky was gone forever.

 

 

 

2 Years Later – Bucharest, Romania

Steve crept through the dingy little apartment. The newspapers over the window let in just enough light for him to see as he took in every detail of where Bucky had been living for the past few months. It wasn't much, but he could that his friend had tried to make it a home; the dishes by the sink were clean, and there were utensils hanging from a bar above the sink as well as in a pitcher on top of the refrigerator.

There was a book on top of the refrigerator that drew Steve's eye. He pulled it free, letting the candy bars on top of it fall off as he carefully opened it. He noticed the multicolored tabs scattered throughout the pages, but when they fell open to reveal a magazine clipping of himself, he froze for a second. A moment of nostalgia swept through him, but it was short lived as he felt a presence behind him.

Turning around he saw his friend for the first time since the battle on the Helicarriers. Bucky looked nervous and scared, and Steve wasn't sure if he knew who he was.

"Do you know me?" he asked.

"You're Steve. I read about you in a museum." Bucky nodded toward the notebook in Steve's hand.

Steve heard Sam in his comms, letting him know that the perimeter had been set.

"I know you're nervous," Steve said, trying to keep his voice calm, "and you have plenty of reason to be. But you're lying."

"I wasn't in Vienna," Bucky replied, knowing exactly why Steve was in his apartment. "I don't do that anymore."

Sam spoke again through the comms letting Steve know that they were entering the building.

"Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive."

" That's smart. Good strategy." Bucky kept his voice calm, but he was shifting from foot to foot and Steve knew he prepping for a fight.

Sam alerted Steve that they were on the roof and he was compromised.

"This doesn't have to end in a fight, Buck."

"It always ends in a fight."

Steve had no idea if Bucky knew him or not, or if he even knew himself, but one thing was certain; he wasn't letting his friend fight this battle on his own.

 

 

 

Richmond, VA

You sat up straight in bed, your breath coming in gasps as you struggled to free yourself from the sweat-dampened sheets wrapped around your legs. You sat on the side of the bed as you rubbed the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, desperate to get the images out of your mind. 

The nightmares had waned over the years, but every now and then you'd relive that day in the bank vault, the day you'd left Bucky to die. Guilt had eaten away you for months, but you'd eventually pulled yourself together and had gone back to work. 

The first time you set foot in the Smithsonian again had almost torn your heart in two. You were chaperoning a group of twenty 6th graders, so you'd been forced to keep it together for their sake, but when you stood in front of that memorial, you couldn't stop the flow of tears that fell from your eyes.

It had been easier to go back the next year, but the nightmares always followed those visits to Bucky's memorial. Your friends had noticed the change in your demeanor, but you'd brushed off their concern. How would you ever begin to explain what had happened between you and Bucky?

Once your heart had settled back into a normal rhythm and your breath had evened out, you rose from the bed and began to get ready for work. A hot shower always help to wash away the remnants of the nightmare, but for some reason, it wasn't working today.

Grabbing a bowl of cereal, you sat down at your small kitchen table and turned on the news. Your spoon fell from your grasp into the bowl, splashing milk everywhere, but you were oblivious to it. Your gaze was fixated on the screen in front of you as you rose from the table to move closer.

You recognized the men and women in the video footage as the Avengers, but it was the long-haired brunet with the metal arm that held your attention. A strangled sob fell from your lips as your hand came up to cover your mouth. Tears began to cloud your vision as you frantically wiped them away, not wanting to miss a minute of what you were seeing.

He was alive. Bucky was alive.


	20. Chapter 20

Wakanda

Steve walked into the stark white room where his friend sat on an exam table. It was still hard to see Bucky with only one arm, but T'Challa had assured him that his scientists were working on building a replacement for him.

Bucky looked up as his friend walked across the room carrying a familiar backpack. Bucky truly never thought he'd see it again. Steve placed it on the table next to him and Bucky carefully opened it and pulled out one of the worn out journals.

"T'Challa was able to get these from Ross," Steve explained. "Told him he wanted to study them to better understand the motivations behind the attack on the UN."

"There's another one," Bucky told him.

"Sharon was able to recover the one left in Bucharest," Steve assured him. "It's in there."

"No, not that one," Bucky clarified as he thumbed through the pages. "The very first one."

Steve cocked his head in confusion. "Where is it?"

Bucky looked back up at his friend. "Richmond, Virginia."

"What's in Richmond?" Steve asked, still confused.

"Rumlow caught up to me again a few weeks after SHIELD fell," Bucky began to explain. "He put me back in the machine and it wasn't until you crashed the helicopter in Vienna that I finally remembered those two weeks."

"Bucky," Steve said. "You're not making any sense. What did you forget?"

Bucky looked up at his best friend, his eyes full of sadness. "The best thing that ever happened to me."

Steve gave Bucky a confused look as one of the medical team came up to them to tell them that they were ready.

"You sure about this?" Steve asked again.

"I can't trust my own mind," Bucky told him. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing. . .for everybody."

Steve gave his friend a nod of understanding as they led Bucky to the cryo chamber. He watched as the lid came down and the cylinder began to fill with an icy fog. Bucky closed his eyes and took one final breath, his face set into a peaceful expression for the first time since 1945.

Steve looked down at the journal in his hands and wondered about the one that was missing. What was in Richmond, Virginia, and did he really want to chance going down that rabbit hole?

 

 

 

3 Months later - Washington D.C.

You had tried to stay away, but when it had been reported that Captain America was missing, that Bucky was missing, you'd been unable to stop yourself from coming to the museum just about every weekend.

There was a part of you that knew Bucky wouldn't take a chance of coming here, his face was plastered all over the media, and this time, it was a clear picture. He'd be recognized in a second if he walked through those doors, but you still came. You stood in front of his memorial week after week and wondered. Where had he been for the past two years? Why hadn't he come back for you?

You had no answers, but with every day that passed, you had more questions. You had resigned yourself to the fact that you may never get answers to your questions, but you wasn't ready to give up hope just yet.

You wiped the tears from your eyes as a tall brunette came to stand beside you. Realizing how ridiculous it must seem to be crying over a man the world viewed as a villain, you tried to quietly slip away from the stranger.

"I heard they tried to have this removed a few years ago," the other woman remarked, turning her head slightly toward you. "Apparently there was this teacher from Virginia who fought tooth and nail to keep it up. Something about Barnes being a national hero, and that his legacy shouldn't be tainted by the torture he'd endured while he was a captive of Hydra."

"I heard something about that," you said, not wanting to reveal the fact that it had been you who'd fought to clear Bucky's name. When the woman said nothing, you turned to walk away.

"He's alive, you know," she said, turning to meet your eyes.

Your mouth dropped open in surprise, but you quickly clamped it shut again. "I beg your pardon?"

She nodded toward the memorial. "Barnes. He's alive." She made a quick sweep of the room and in that instant you realized that this wasn't some random woman. She may have been dressed casually, but everything about her screamed secret agent; the way she stood, the way her eyes assessed the room for possible dangers, the no-nonsense look that she was giving you now. "A friend of mine sent me to find you, (Y/N)."

Your mind instantly went on the defense, scared that this was an undercover Hydra agent sent to use you as leverage against Bucky. Glancing around the room, you spotted a security guard and began to move toward him, but the other woman grabbed your arm.

"My friend happens to be a Captain, (Y/N)," she cryptically explained. "I'm not here to hurt you, but you have something that he wants."

Relief flooded through your system, but you were confused by her explanation. "I don't know what you're talking about. What could I possibly have that he could want, and why did he send you to retrieve it?"

She glanced around the room again as if she were waiting for someone to notice them. "The Captain isn't exactly America's golden boy anymore, so he needed someone a little less conspicuous to approach you." She let go of your arm and took a step back. "In three days, you'll be receiving a package in the mail. Follow the instructions and don't forget the notebook."

She slipped into the crowd and as hard as you tried, you couldn't find her again. You stood in the middle of the room, your mind spinning from the conversation you'd just had. Bucky was alive. Your eyes began to fill with tears again, but you staunched them. You had other things to focus on right now. Captain Rogers knew about the notebook, so Bucky must have told him about it. You had no idea what this package was going to be, but a part of you hoped that it would lead you to wherever Bucky was.

 

 

 

Three days later, you stood by the mailbox and waited for the postman, too anxious to sit in your townhouse. When he came up the road, you held your breath, waiting to see what he would deliver to you. True to her word, he had a large padded envelope with no return address. You thanked the postman and hurried into the house to open it.

Ripping open the package at the kitchen table, you dumped the contents out and began to sift through them. There was a passport and an ID with your picture, but it had the name Sarah James. There was also a plane ticket in Sarah James' name from Richmond to Heathrow in London, with a layover at JFK in New York. Lastly, you saw a folded piece of white paper. Unfolding it you began to read the typewritten letter.

"I can't explain everything in a letter, but I'm hoping that you'll use the ticket. Once you're in London, someone will meet you to escort you on the rest of your journey. If you come, please bring the notebook."

It wasn't signed, so you had no way of knowing if it had been Bucky or Captain Rogers who'd written it. You looked at the ticket again and saw that it was dated two days from today. A sigh of relief fell from your lips as you realized you had a few days to mull things over. You wanted to believe that this was from Bucky, but there was a part of you that still thought this might be a trap.

You spent the next day and a half debating with yourself. A part of you reasoned that no one other than Bucky knew who you were. Even if the scarred man from the hospital had lived through the explosion, he had no way of finding out who you were. The only logical explanation was that Bucky had told the Captain about you and this was real.

Finally making up your mind, you packed a small carry-on bag and called an Uber to take you to the airport. The flight was long, and you'd hoped you be able to sleep as you flew through the night, but your nerves were shot as you wondered what would await you once you landed in England.

Your plane landed on time and you disembarked to find the terminal empty. Trying not to get worried, you walked toward the baggage claim area, hoping that your contact would be meeting you there. Scanning the crowd of people, you immediately recognized the tall brunette from the Smithsonian and made your way over to her. She didn't say a word as she glanced down at your small suitcase and began walking toward the exit.

You followed along behind her as she walked past the parking lot toward the other end of the airport. You began to get worried until you saw the hangar in the distance with a small jet on the tarmac with the stairs lowered. She walked right up to the plane and began to ascend the stairs, so you followed her in.

She was already seated by the time you'd entered the plane and she gestured for you to sit in the seat opposite her. The flight crew retracted the stairs and closed the door as the pilot began to taxi toward the runway. 

Once the plane was in the air, she finally looked at you and began to speak. "I'm sorry for all of the subterfuge, but we needed to make sure you hadn't been followed."

"Who are you and where are we going?"

Her face broke out in a warm smile that you hadn't been expecting. "I'm Agent Maria Hill, and we are on our way to a place that doesn't exist."

"Well, that's not cryptic at all," you snapped.

"Look," Agent Hill began, "I would like to tell you everything, but I'm under strict orders."

"What can you tell me?"

She gave you a sympathetic look and took a deep breath. "I don't know the whole story. I doubt that Steve knows the whole story. All I know is that Barnes told Steve that one of his notebooks was in Richmond, but he didn't tell him why. Steve went through Barnes' things and found an old burner phone. It was in pretty bad shape, but T'Ch. . .some IT people were able to pull up the memory. The phone had never made or received any calls, but there was a number saved in the contacts. Your number. I did a little research on you, but the only connection I could find between you and Barnes was that petition you made to keep his memorial in the Smithsonian. Steve thought you might be important, so he had me arrange for you to come to him." She sat back in her seat and raised an eyebrow at you. "Now it's your turn. Tell me how you know Barnes."

You ran your hand down your face as you tried to process what she'd told you. From what you understood, Bucky hadn't asked for you to come, it had been the Captain. All he'd been concerned about was his notebook, but that notebook mostly contained details of your time together at the beach house. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was about to come. You'd never told anyone this story, and for a while you'd begun to wonder if it had ever really happened.

Agent Hill sat silently and listened as you told her everything, from the night of the hurricane all the way to the abandoned bank in DC. Her face never registered a single emotion, so you eventually let your focus drift to the window as you watched the clouds below you. It felt good to get it all out, to finally put the entire experience into words.

"Brock Rumlow," Agent Hill finally said as you finished your story. "The man with the scars, was Brock Rumlow. He was a Hydra sleeper agent within SHIELD. He was injured when the Triskelion fell and must have been admitted to the same hospital as Steve."

"Is he dead?" you asked.

"Yes," she answered. "As of about five months ago. He blew himself up in Lagos trying to kill Steve."

"Thank God," you said with a sigh of relief.

"It wasn't Barnes that blew up the UN," she informed you. "If you were wondering."

"I knew it wasn't him," you told her.

"Had a gut feeling?"

"No," you said shaking your head. "The man in the picture was too skinny to be Bucky, didn't have his thighs."

Agent Hill's calm façade broke as she began to shake her head and laugh. "We should have found you months ago, it would have saved Germany an airport."

You spent the rest of the flight learning about Agent Hill and her involvement with SHIELD and the Avengers. She was the kind of woman you admired, strong and independent, but with a soft spot for her friends. She was the kind of woman you could be friends with if you'd met under different circumstances.

After a few stops for fuel, you finally landed in what looked like the middle of the jungle. There was a woman waiting for you at the base of the stairs. She was tall and regal and looked like the kind of woman you didn't want to anger. She gave the two of you a nod and began walking toward a building you could only describe as a palace.

"Where are we?" you asked Agent Hill in a whisper.

"Somewhere safe," she answered with a shrug.

Your escort led you into the palace and up a set of stairs. She motioned for Agent Hill to enter a room, but held out a hand when you tried to follow. She nodded toward the other end of the hallway as she began walking again.

You were nervous to be alone in the strange place with a woman who looked as though she could break your neck with the flick of her finger, but you continued to follow her. She led you into a large room with a wall of windows overlooking the jungle. 

The room was completely empty, and you started to get even more nervous when your guide left, shutting the doors behind her. You walked to the windows and looked out over the trees. There was a veil of humid fog clouding the view, but from what you could see, this was a virtual paradise.

The sound of raised voices drew your attention to the doors behind you. Fear began to settle into your stomach as the voices started to get closer.

"I don't know why you're so upset," one of voices said. "I thought you'd be happy to see her."

"Happy?" the other voice asked, and you were almost positive it was Bucky. "I forgot she existed for two years, Steve. She probably hates me right now."

Your heart broke when you heard that he'd forgotten you, but you were also relieved to know that he hadn't abandoned you because he didn't want you. You wanted to rush through those doors and tell him that you didn't hate him, that you could never hate him, but you were unable to move. Your heart was pounding and you were having trouble catching your breath as you anxiously waited for him to walk into the room.

The doors finally opened and you saw him. You tried to take in everything about him as he stood frozen in the doorway, the Captain peering over his shoulder to get a look at you. His hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, and he had the beginnings of a beard covering his jaw. His eyes were just as blue as you remembered as his gaze bore into you. You were shocked to see that he was missing his left arm, but other than that he looked fine.

He was the first to make a move as he slowly began walking toward you. Once he'd gotten halfway across the room and saw the tears welling up in your eyes, he hurried the last few steps, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close to him.

Your arms wound around his neck as you buried your head in the crook of his shoulder and sobbed with joy. Finally gaining control of yourself, you looked up at him and saw the tears in his own eyes as he smiled down at you. Cupping his face in your hands, you pulled him toward you as you poured every ounce of your soul into the kiss.

Bucky finally pulled away and lay his forehead against yours, his eyes glassy from tears and desire. "Your heart is racing again, doll."


End file.
